Do As You Like
by teawithmochi
Summary: "So you have no idea how you've amassed an entire private army, gotten the entirety of the Japanese police force to flinch at your name, and managed to keep an iron fist on every yakuza group in Namimori?" I paused and narrowed my eyes. "…Hold still and let me bite you to death." OC Self Insert.
1. Chapter 1

Do As You Like Chapter One

**DISCLAIMER: If I were really Amano Akira, I'd wonder how I was able to write a manga when I was five years old. Don't own, bros.**

**A/N: Hi, this is teawithmochi here! I've always wanted to write a KHR fic, so here's one of those shameless OC-Inserts. This is an exploration of Kyouya's life before canon in the eyes of another person. I'm still not sure if the story will reach canon, but if it does then expect it to be AU. ^^ Inform me if you see any typos, please!**

**{KHR18KHR}**

"Oh my god, Fon looks so hot~!" The shrill voice echoed from directly beside my left ear, momentarily deafening me. Scowling, I covered my ears and blanched at my friend because, really, she was insane.

"Are you trying to make me _deaf_, woman?" Ow. I shook my head and dropped my head into my arms, scrambling my short hair. "Tone it down, your inner fangirl is showing through." Nika laughed smacked the base of my skull. _Ow!_

"Oh, you know you love my fangirling," she joked, spontaneously attempting to braid the short strands at my nape. "But I can't help it! Fon is just waaay too smexy in this picture!"

I snorted. "'Smexy'? How old are you, thirteen? And isn't this Fon supposed to be a baby?"

"Of course! Didn't I tell you? The Arcobaleno are—"

"—The seven strongest babies," I finished with a skeptical glance in her direction. "Plus Lal Mirch. But if they're the seven strongest babies, how is Fon supposed to be sexy?"

Nika sputtered and stared at me. "Well, I mean, he just used his present!"

"…You must realize I have no idea what you're talking about. How is a gift meant to turn a baby into a sexy man…?"

"I—I don't know! Magic, I suppose! This Checkerface guy has the ability to make grown men into babies, of course he can do exact opposite!"

"Then how did he manage to make them into babies into the first place?"

She grabbed my notebook and hit me again. "Shut up! Stop questioning me!"

I cursed. "You're insane!"

Nika harrumphed and stuck her nose up at me. "You just don't appreciate fine literature."

Scrunching up my nose, I didn't reply. Hey, it wasn't like I really liked to read manga or watch anime. That was Nika's domain. Couldn't she, I don't know, read books once in a while? Books like _Catch-22_, or _The Picture of Dorian Gray_, or even _Ready Player One_, a more modern novel that I had finished just three days ago? Instead, she squealed over fictional characters. My eyes rolled. _Ridiculous_.

"Eee!" The brunette squeaked _again_, no doubt due to Fon _again_. I sighed long-sufferingly.

The final day of the school year ended uneventfully, and my class filed out of the room as swiftly as we could once the bell rang signaling our departure. Nika didn't look up from her phone, apparently immersed within the manga. Grabbing her hand and guiding us both to the bus ramp, I killed a biting insult before it could leave my mouth.

Sometimes I couldn't understand how Nika could be so happy all of the time. For the past three months, I had kept an eye on her, ready for her to burst into tears. After all, her parents had died in a fire that long ago, and she hadn't cried at all, not even a single drop. As her (not only, but perhaps best) friend, I worried for her. She showed no signs, true, but I remembered a similar incident when her cat had died when we were seven and she hadn't begun wailing until two weeks later. Now, the shoe could drop at any moment.

One more death, I knew, would break her for sure.

_(Please let it not be me.)_

We found our bus easily, and I pulled her up the steps and to our usual seats, pulling out my scarf as I did so. She blinked and turned to me, her eyes for once away from the metal device in her right hand.

"You finally finished it?" She asked redundantly, pulling the fabric from my hands. "It's nice. Oh!"

I huffed as she ran her fingers along the black fabric, oohing and aahing at the design. I'd based it on my favorite character from her blasted manga obsession, stitching the number eighteen on one end and the kanji for 'discipline' on the other. I quite liked it, and it seemed that Nika did too.

"It's wonderful!" She once again shrieked, though thankfully quietly so as to not disturb the other passengers. "It even has an eighteen, and ooh! What does this say?"

I told her, and she laughed. "You really like Hibari-kun, don't you?"

"He's the only cool one," I answered wryly, snorting. "The others are wimps."

"Heeehh… Is that a crush I spy?"

This time it was I that smacked her head. "Not at all. If you're trying to ruffle me, it won't work."

Nika pouted. "Aww. And here I thought I could write some happy-happy fun times with you two, if you know what I mean…"

Trying to hide my embarrassed flush, I slammed my forehead into the seat in front of me and wrapped the scarf around my face, ignoring the squawk from the person before us. I readied my reply to her, opening my mouth, but bit my tongue as the bus seemed to hit a pothole in the middle of the road.

The bus lurched acutely to one side, far too much for my liking. My heart leapt as I glanced outside the window and realized that yes; the bus was rounding a curve on a cliffside.

_A steep cliffside with wild, crashing waves at the bottom of a hundred-foot drop._

"Nika!" Was all I could cry before the bus tipped over entirely and then—

We were falling.

Everyone screamed in unison, a cacophonous mishmash of terrified teenagers, and the metal deathtrap that had once been our school bus began to sink rapidly, too fast for my liking. Acting on reflexes, I yelled for everyone on the left side—my side, the higher side—to open their windows before the pressure became too much to open the metal panes even a little bit, and shoved the emergency exit open. For once I was glad that I was such a paranoid person that we always sat at the safest point on the bus.

Someone opened the exit at the top. Water spilled in from every direction as, as a whole, we all shimmied through the open windows and out into the freezing ocean. Air! I needed air!

My lungs threatened to burst, but I clamped my lips together by sheer willpower so that the oxygen wouldn't escape me. My eyes blinked rapidly, stinging, and I glanced around for Nika even as my body tumbled with the rushing currents.

I had never been so fucking scared before in my life.

Finally I located her, and frantically swam over to her heart-stoppingly limp body, grabbing hold of her wrist and yanking us both to the surface. We broke, and I heard her loud, heaving gasps before a wave lurched and we were under again. _Shit!_ My grip on her hand slipped loose from the force of the water, and I sank again, unable to keep afloat as my body heat seeped out into the greedy ocean and away from me. I couldn't breathe, having not been able to take in enough air at the last minute.

I was going to die. Oh gods, I was going to die an eighteen-year-old loser with one friend and no one but my family and said friend to remember me. I'd never be a doctor or lawyer or even a mediocre musician. My life would just end like this. A haze descended over my mind as I panicked. Soon, the water no longer felt cold; the burning in my chest no longer seemed so strong; my fingers, numb and clumsy, grasped for something, _anything_ to hold onto, and I pulled on something light and thin.

My scarf? When had it…? As I stared at the purple number eighteen that I had so painstakingly weaved into cloth, I was struck by the sheer ridiculousness of my situation. Here I was, drowning in the ocean. Would my parents care? Would my brother miss me? He was only five, would he even understand what it meant for someone to die? Would anyone remember to feed my pet rabbit in my death…?

Black began to stain the edges of my sight, and I hacked, the pressure of the ocean forcing water into my mouth and down my lungs, choking me. Ah, fuck! My arms flapped about in the water, clawing, but I couldn't go anywhere but down. But where was down? Up? Left? Right? I couldn't see anything anymore, only searching about with my kinesthesia that only confused me even more.

Was Nika alive? Was she like me, drowning and blind? I didn't know. My mind whirred and whirred.

I'm not going to let it end like this! Fuck it, body, move! Get the fuck out of this mess!

And then I stopped working altogether.

**{KHR18KHR}**

Hibari Kyouya was born on the fifth of May, at six-eighteen in the afternoon, weighing at exactly two-point-four kilograms. A small child. Tiny. Premature, but steadily gaining weight as he slept in his incubator, fingers occasionally twitching.

I had no idea what I was in for when I woke up.


	2. Chapter 2

Do As You Like Chapter Two

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own KHR. I mean, every time I try to draw Reborn he comes out as some freaky baby alien. Which he kinda is.**

**{KHR18KHR}**

**One Month Blues**

"Kyo-kun, are you excited about going home today?" Hibari Tsubame beamed down at the bundle in her arms, her face alight with joy and flush with health. As I stared at her stoically, observing the willowy, jasmine-scented woman, she giggled and gave me an eskimo kiss.

"Oi, oi," the man at her side, Hibari Kisuke, wryly interjected, "he's only two weeks old. The only thing he'd be excited about would be soiling the new nappy we just got on him." From my place in my new mother's arms, I gave him a cross look—or, at least, my most intimidating glare. I wasn't sure how it looked, though. My face was still pretty numb.

Kisuke chuckled and gently prodded my cheek with one of his (to me) oversized, long and slender fingers. "Oh, a little fierce there, Little Skylark." Tsubame slapped his hand away and hugged my vulnerable and defenseless body closer to her chest, an act of which I did not appreciate in the least.

Mother! Stop! Your boobs are crushing me, and I'd rather not be this close to a woman's breasts aside from feeding!

"Stop that!" Chided the longhaired woman, nudging Kisuke with her shoulder and thankfully releasing me from her smothering prison—I mean, hold. "I read that if you poke an infant's cheeks, they'll drool!"

…Really? I blinked and raised one of my pudgy little hands. My skin tone ranged from a multitude of shades such as nectarine red; apple scarlet; peach pink; and a fascinating, ever-so-slightly-shifting dull shade of magenta. As I stared at my barely moving fingers, an odd thought passed through my mind. If I poked my own cheek, would I salivate? Or would I not, because I was the one doing it? Before I could do much else, however, Kisuke crowed.

"Oh! Oh! Baby Kyo-kun wants to shake hands with Tou-chan!" He, once again, gently brought his hand into my bubble of space. Humoring him (because despite the fact that he was the elder, Kisuke seemed to have the energy and attention span of a twelve-year-old) I reached out and grasped his finger as hard as I could. Which, once more, was not as effective as I thought it would be. "Heeeeh, Kyo-kun's gonna be a strong fighter when he grows up, eh?"

Tsubame laughed daintily, sending vibrations traveling along my skin. "Maybe he'll become a police officer like you."

"That'd be nice, wouldn't it? A father-son duo, fighting crime and keeping peace in Namimori!" My father—I supposed that there was no reason to say new anymore when he'd already accepted me as his son—grinned and swiped me from my mother's grasp (once again with minimal movement and much care, mind you) making off toward what seemed to be my new home. _Our_ home.

A bit surprised from the sudden movement, I watched a mischievous look spread over his face. When he caught my eye, the man winked and adjusted my position so that his dashing wouldn't quite affect me so much. "Your Kaa-chan's gonna be so mad with me when we get home," he whispered shamelessly, then bellowed, "but _**I REGRET NOTHING**_!"

Tsubame shrieked once she noticed me gone. Loudly.

"KISUKE, I SWEAR TO BENTEN, GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE OR I'LL GET IT MYSELF!"

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

**{KHR18KHR}**

Two weeks later my mother went back to work and my father left me at the daycare until she could pick me up. I didn't know when, but from the volunteer worker's disgruntled expression, I estimated that it probably would be a while until my (usually) calm and serene mother could take me home.

"It'll only be for a little bit, okay, Little Skylark?" I didn't know why he spoke to me, seeing as I wasn't supposed to be able to understand him until much later, but the action seemed to soothe him more than me. "Time will pass so swiftly you won't even notice it!" A nervous laugh wracked his body and I made eye contact, forcing my lips to contort into a comforting smile. Kisuke left soon after, and the volunteer placed me (a bit roughly, but then again my skin was very sensitive) on a smooth counter. Was this what she was supposed to do?

Then the volunteer—girl, really—vanished somewhere the moment I looked away.

Now what to do… There wasn't much a month-old infant could do, and much less than that could actually stimulate a would-have-been college student's brain. While the other volunteers ran off to catch the other hectic brats in the room, I mused pensively on world hunger. Never let it be said that I wasted my time as a baby.

"Ara?" I squirmed as someone lifted me a bit clumsily, though made sure to support my head. Ahh… I wasn't sure what would happen if I died yet again, only this time due to my neck snapping off… The brunette holding my form jolted me from my shifting thoughts. "Where is your minder, little one?"

The volunteer was pretty, I supposed, with clear, shining skin and a dazzling smile. If I could compare her to my mother, Tsubame was graceful, subtle, and smooth whereas this young woman (heck, she was only a year or so older than I was/had been!) radiated a certain charisma, almost like a bright-hot sun. Her long brown hair swept around her face, and her cheeks held an innocent plumpness to them.

…Was no human contact other than my parents for two weeks enough to reduce me to a driveling pile of literary devices? My nose scrunched in habit.

"Ah," the woman said softly as she read over my nametag, hastily scribbled in my father's chicken scratch, "your name is Kyouya-kun, hmm? Are you hungry?" She frowned slightly as she looked around the room, searching for my supposed caretaker. The expression didn't suit her face.

I would have shrugged if I could. My parents fed me on clockwork since I didn't cry even when I was hungry. The same went for my diapers (and the less said about them the better). I had my pride; besides, the less I woke up my parents in the middle of the night (or, kami forbid, interrupt them in the middle of 'business'), the less reason they had to… hate me, really.

The brunette cocked her head and headed over to the small kitchenette in the back of the room meant for babies and the unfortunate kids that had to stay long enough for them to get hungry.

Which, really, was me on both accounts. Let's see… Kisuke had dropped me off at eight in the morning—Tsubame would pick me up sometime between seven and ten. Obviously the daycare would be unhappy with caring for a newborn for around twelve hours or thereabouts. Though, to be honest, I hadn't expected them to be so unhappy that my minder would ditch me at the first chance. Or was it that today was just a coincidence? Was I unlucky?

The young woman smiled at me as she prepared the baby formula. I disliked the powdered substance—avoided it as often as possible—but only because it tasted terrible, sometimes got chunky, and was usually not a temperature that I liked drinking things at. It came either lukewarm or boiling hot, never a happy medium…

Not that I preferred breastfeeding! I mean, I disliked it just as much, but I had no teeth, couldn't drink normal milk, and it was the lesser of two evils! Besides, baby formula was suspicious… How did scientists know if a 'new and improved' formula would ensure my full growth? What, had they had it twenty years ago and fed it to some kid and waited for him to mature, then compared him to other children on other formulas? What if genetics got in the way? If they used twins, then what would happen if one was taller than the other…? Or was it that the milk powder was developed recently and only had vitamins that no one could have hard concrete proof of working?

I needed to stop thinking for a second. My brows wrinkled as the volunteer tested the milk on her arm—thank kami that she wasn't as inexperienced as I had thought she was—and carefully pushed the rubber nub into my mouth.

The rubber flavor annoyed me but I drank it all the same since the rumbling in my belly seemed to promote rambling thoughts—and the last thing I needed was to jump off on another tangent that would leave even Nika insane.

Not that she wasn't already.

…_Had been_ already.

To my pleasant surprise the milk wasn't as bad as it usually tasted. No chunks, satisfactory flavor, perfect temperature… Perhaps my father was a terrible cook? It would explain things.

"Nee, Kyouya-kun," the brunette (I desperately needed her name now, because this was driving me up the proverbial wall) absently spoke up, "are you a happy baby? Do you love your parents? …Ah, can you even comprehend love at such a young age?"

Yes, yes, and yes to all three, I mentally replied, though the words seemed, as with Kisuke, to be self-reassurances rather than to actually communicate. Once I drained the bottle dry, I released it and let her take it away to the sink. For the first time since my rebirth (Reincarnation? Insertion? Cosmic joke?) I wanted to communicate with a human being. I wanted to say things like, "What's bothering you?" and "Your worrying is giving me hives because I can't stand intense emotions," and "Tell me what to do to help," even though I was stuck in an infant's body, unable to even lift my head. The feeling bothered me, and at that moment I realized that my parents were sharper than a florist and typical police officer should be; after all, neither had any problems with telling me about everything I needed to know, even at risk of sounding insane. Normal people didn't speak to their infants as if they could understand them.

So why did Kisuke and Tsubame…?

"Ara, I forgot to introduce myself!" I blinked as her voice snapped me from my thoughts. She placed me upright and against her shoulder even as she spoke, patting my back. Amused, I burped and the woman once again held me in her arms, now rocking me back and forth. "I'm Nana," Nana said with a brilliant smile. "I just thought you should know, even if you can't understand. Haa. You're the first baby I've taken care of, you know." She broke off humming and let her eyes drop slightly, looking down to her abdomen. "You're practice. For my Tsu-kun."

…Oh. Sawada Nana, a voice in my mind told me, sounding suspiciously like Nika. Sawada Tsunayoshi's mother, the wife of Sawada, eh, Ie-something. I hadn't paid attention to everything.

Time passed normally after that, the hours trickling by steadily. I took a nap, woke up to find another bottle shoved in my face, and stared at the little yellow ducks lining the wall. How could they be so saccharine and creepy at the same time…?

Eventually around six o'clock or so, my appointed minder came back with a wide grin on her face—only for the kind and soft-spoken Nana to give her a dressing down that everyone in the building probably heard and cringed at. Towards the end of the rant, I had half expected her to begin cursing, but she ended with little fanfare. The girl didn't cry through it all, but the expression Nana wore made me think it was only a matter of _yet._ Was it me, or did all mothers happen to be terrifying once mad? Or was it all women?

As I had suspected, Tsubame came for me at eight, and after hearing of how the girl had ditched her work to go on a date with her boyfriend, she too verbally abused the teen. I had never seen the woman so irritated before, and it baffled me for a moment before I thought to myself, Oh right, this is the woman who threatened to castrate my father last week because he forgot to burp me and I threw up everywhere. …That wasn't a pleasant memory.

"Oh, thank you so much for taking care of my Kyo-kun!" My mother bowed deeply in Nana's direction, and I could see out of the corner of my eye how the brunette took the thanks.

"Oh, it was honestly no problem," she denied, waving her hands as a flustered blush spread over her cheeks. "Kyouya-kun was wonderful! He didn't make a fuss or cry or anything; he was a perfect sweetheart!"

"Still, thank you! If you hadn't been there, he might have starved or fallen and died or something!"

"Oh, well then, you're welcome any time. But I doubt you'll come back here after what happened on his first day…"

"You're right… But I'm Hibari Tsubame." My mother smiled confidently and hastily scribbled something on a page of notebook paper. "Here's how to contact me. If you ever need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to call. I'm in your debt, Sawada-san."

Nana appeared very overwhelmed as I watched her while Tsubame and I left through the glass double doors of the daycare, and something told me that this favor that Nana could call in—at any time, for anything—wasn't just some little thing.

…I wouldn't be surprised if my mother hounded people to the ends of the earth to fulfill whatever request she might eventually make.

**{KHR18KHR}**

It seemed that my mother's solution to a daycare lied with my father. The day following the Daycare Disaster (though in what way it was a disaster I couldn't seem to comprehend) Tsubame handed me to my baffled father and commanded, deadpan, "Take him to work with you. Get one of your subordinates to mind him."

"B-but what about you? I can't just abuse my status like that! Not after I was just promoted!" Kisuke spluttered, bemusedly meeting my eyes. His normally shaggy black hair was swept neatly beneath his police hat, and the normally unshaved chin he sported seemed to be missing. I recognized him—of course I'd recognize my own father!—but he looked radically different from the man I saw just yesterday. The uniform gave him a clean cut figure; the baton at his hip lent him a dangerous edge. Overall, Kisuke looked… domineering.

Respect-worthy.

…Pfft.

My mother waved him off and swept her long black hair behind her, pulling it up in a high ponytail that made her look like a teenager when she really was only twenty-two. "Nonsense. You're not a rookie anymore. You're in charge of the entire station, _anata_. I wouldn't be astonished if you're promoted to Chief of Police within a couple of more years."

Blushing, my father rubbed the back of his head. "Ahah, r-really? You think so?"

"Of course!" Tsubame chimed, eyes narrowing slightly giving her the image of a predator after prey. "Your subordinates all look up to you because you're an amazing leader. Surely they wouldn't mind watching Kyouya for a few hours…"

"Oh, yes, you're righ—"

To give them privacy, I closed my eyes and counted to ten. After ten seconds and still not hearing them come up for air, I scowled and coughed—slightly and minutely, but enough that they'd notice. Great spirits above, I knew that they were a young couple, but to do this in front of their son, with him squashed in the middle? I could potentially be scarred!

…Well, it wasn't like I was supposed to be able to remember things as a month-old baby… And they were still very young… And since they had to take care of me I guess that probably cut down on their alone time… But! That didn't give them the excuse to passionately make out at our front door when they should be getting to work!

Ten more seconds later—they'd noticed my cough but ignored it, how awkward—the two finally broke apart. Tsubame shot me a feline smirk and patted my cheek. "Oho, looks like little Kyo-kun feels a bit left out~!"

"Hmm~ We should rectify that, shouldn't we~?"

"Indeed we should, dear~!"

No! No, Okaa-san, you're wrong! What are you doing with Otou-san, get away—

"Mwah!" Kisuke grinned a cheesy smile as I gaped at him, mouth shaped in a small 'o' of horror. Did he just—really—what—!

These people were insane! Japanese parents aren't supposed to show this much affection! I wanted to scream in mortification.

(And fuck, he just stole my first kiss _**ever**_!)

~~~~~~!

Snickering, Tsubame ruffled my black-as-ink hair. "Seems he didn't like your kiss, _anata_."

Also sniggering, Kisuke replied, "Look at his face! I bet whoever tries to kiss him in the future is gonna end up with a punch to the chin before they get to come any closer than one foot!"

I felt so betrayed at that moment that I bet my dismay could be felt miles away. …I wipe my hands of you, Otou-san.

Twenty minutes later, Kisuke carried me into a sleek metal building filled with blue-uniformed men. We rounded three flights of stairs before encountering his floor. Three officers in the corner caught sight of him and hastily sketched brief bows before resuming what they seemed to do before the two of us had entered; that is, they filed paperwork almost lazily, but sped up as my father's line of sight lingered on each and every one of them.

"Mori-kun, Satou-kun, Ayasegawa-kun."

"Hai!" Rushing to stand, the trio chorused together, much to my bewilderment. The synchronization I felt from them was absolutely abnormal.

Shifting me into a better position in his arms, the superior officer smiled. It… didn't look happy, and for some odd reason, a gleeful sensation ghosted over my skin, as if perceiving a threat that hung in the air. Seeing my father's expression, however, informed me that one probably did. A dangerous one. My lips curled into a smile almost without my own accord.

"Where is Tanaka-kun?" He inquired, though only in the loosest sense. The tone of his voice barely held any lilting notes.

The shortest one, Satou, spoke up and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Midori-chan is in the break room getting some coffee. She'll be back soon, I expect."

Kisuke nodded with a smile on his face. "Good, good… Well, officers, I'd tell you to get back to work, but I have a change of plans."

Mori, a tall and lanky man with spiky black hair, blinked. He opened his mouth, closed it with an odd look, and then opened his mouth again. "…Does this new job have anything to do with the baby in your arms?"

If I had the necessary mastery over my facial muscles, I would have raised an eyebrow and murmured, 'Good job, you finally noticed the loaf-of-bread-shaped lump in your superior's arms. Which, incidentally, is wearing an eye catching purple onesie.'

But I didn't. Because I was only one month old.

…This was going to get old quickly, wasn't it?

"And remember, Kyouya eats at nine, twelve, four, and eight. Time have to be exact. I've brought along his favorite toys along with a change of clothes, and don't forget to change his diaper! You won't notice because he doesn't cry, and if he does, even a little bit because my cute little subordinates can't take care of him, _I'll kill you all_."

"…Um."

Kisuke laughed madly. "If you lot need me, I'll be in my office!"

Ten minutes after that, a young woman entered the room to set down a tray of coffee mugs, staring at me as she took a long sip. "So… Did I miss something?"


	3. Chapter 3

Do As You Like Chapter Three

**DISCLAIMER: Amano Akira owns KHR! If I did own the whole franchise, I wouldn't be on this website, now would I? …Unless I decided to troll a bunch of people… You know what, whatever.**

**{KHR18KHR}**

_Sakura. Sakura everywhere._ The downy petals floated down from every direction, swirling and twirling and dancing about in the air even as I attempted to grab at the flowers with my little hands. My mother and father sat a whiles away, hands interlocked and shoulders brushing with a certain intimacy I almost wished I could have. But I shook my head and stood still, a plan coming into mind. Waiting until the correct moment for the little petals to land in my palm, I let my hand dart forward, settling the pink plant in the middle of my palm.

The sakura were very pretty, that much I could admit.

"Kyouya!" Kisuke called from the picnic cloth, a cup of _sakurayu_ in his hand, "Nice job!" A wide, proud grin stretched from ear to ear on his young face, and I flushed before turning away.

S-So what if I could catch a little petal in my hand? It was nothing to be proud of! But try as I might, a smile of my own pulled at my lips, making my face redden even further. "Thanks!" I answered, carefully stepping away from the little pile of petals that I had shuffled together with my bare feet.

Tsubame beamed at me. "The flowers are beautiful, aren't they, Kyouya?"

"It's times like these," my father cut in with a wry smile, "that I'm glad we live so far down that Namimori's sakura bloom so late in the year. I mean, yeah I hate the blazing summers, but it's all worth it when nature gives you such a wonderful birthday present!"

That was right. Today was the fifth of May, and Hibari Kyouya was officially one year old.

I almost couldn't believe that an entire year had passed since my death. What was I supposed to feel? Sad? Wistful? Determined? I hadn't seen my other family and Nika for so long already, and yet I didn't feel bothered at all.

It should have hurt to know that I didn't feel anything but joy because—well, I'd already moved on. There was nothing negative. Blinking unsurely, I nibbled my bottom lip and closed my eyes. Come on, it was my birthday. I was meant to be happy, right? My parents had even rented out one of the best places to view the cherry blossoms, and all for their son.

Their son, Kyouya. _Me._

And yet was it right that I had taken some poor child's place?

My mother pressed a slender hand into my messy mop of hair, ruffling it enough to send me wobbling into her lap. "Okaa-san!" I complained, though I didn't move away, "My hair isn't something you can just mess up! Otou-san spent fifteen minutes attacking me with a comb this morning just to get it semi-neat!"

She laughed and picked me up easily, though the strain should have made her thin, bird-like arms waver even the slightest bit. They didn't. "But your messy hair is charming, Kyo-kun! You're so adorable, I can't help it."

"Okaa-saaaaan! I'm a boy, I can't be adorable!" I was eighteen! Err, well, nineteen, now, but still! My ego couldn't take all of the cuddling, head patting, and teasing that my parents subjected me to on a daily basis!

"Tsubame, don't keep our Little Skylark all to yourself," Kisuke whined, pilfering me from her grasp. I pouted against his chest even as I banged my forehead in a manner reminiscent of a resigned man.

Which I was, technically. My parents just had to be so odd, despite their blatantly traditional daily lives. Sometimes I'd stare at the multiple rooms dedicated to tea ceremonies or accidentally stumble upon yet another bathroom I hadn't noticed before. My family came from old blood and great fortunes, and moved with a grace only developed through years of childhood lessons; and yet even through all this, neither were snobby, and neither conformed exactly into the 'typical traditionalist' everyone expected them to be.

To be honest, it hurt my head even though I also would go through such schooling in the near future. That said, I was only one, so I was safe.

…But I was also alarmingly dexterous in this life, more so than my last, so my mother had most likely already set up lessons for when I could finally run. Last week she had me drawing kanji with an ink brush, and that was only after spending two weeks refreshing my mind (or to her, teaching me) about the basics of the written language. My head hurt, but that might just be my mounting disbelief over the expectations she had of me. At first, she'd thought I was a normal baby, just eerily perceptive, but when I finally managed to control my vocal chords six months into my new life, she suddenly shifted in the slightest way.

She didn't love me any less; no, she loved me maybe even more than before. She didn't only make me learn; she gave me as much free time as was spent devoted to the finer points of ikebana. She didn't brag about me either—just kept a tight lip whenever someone random in the streets mentioned how much of a genius I was, already speaking in full sentences and all, and _wasn't it just amazing? Kyouya-kun should be registered as an official genius!_

No. Tsubame just pushed me to be my best and nothing more. If anything, I was glad, if exhausted, and Kisuke would only smile and hug me whenever I needed a break. With how often he shoved steaming cups of jasmine tea into my hands, I'd associated the flavor and smell to achievement and success, tinted with just a bit of satisfaction.

My parents were odd, yes, but I wouldn't have them any other way. They knew I could handle whatever they put me through, and they were never disappointed if I couldn't get something right away.

"Oh, Kyo-kun, don't forget—your uncle is coming over to visit you soon, just for this occasion! He's really busy, you know?" I cocked my head in my mother's direction as I sat in Kisuke's cross-legged lap, gripping the strong hands that shielded me from my mother's clingy hold.

Was I a son or a prized hot water bottle? I didn't even know.

My father's tenor rang from behind me, curious. "Oh? The one that's a world-renowned martial artist? Doesn't he work exclusively in China, and is so sought-after that he can't leave?"

"Yes, him," my mother giggled proudly. "I called last night and threatened to send embarrassing photos and secrets again if he didn't come to meet Kyouya for his first birthday!"

…Okaa-san, you're pretty scary sometimes, I thought to myself numbly as she leaned her head gracefully onto her husband's shoulder and held my hand. She was scary, yes, but also so very nice and kind. And beautiful. What was the saying again, the most dangerous creatures were also always the brightest ones…?

"When will he come?" I inquired curiously, leaning against the flat muscle of my father's stomach. "And is he really that important?"

Tsubame and Kisuke paused and exchanged a look before bursting into peals of laughter. I took that to mean a very loud 'yes'.

Shaking off her fits of giggles, the florist brushed some fringe away from her face. "Oh, Gēgē is very, very important. That's also the reason why I want him to meet you, because I want my older brother to meet the most important man in my life right now."

"Hey, what am I, chopped liver?"

"Oh hush, dear, you love Kyouya just as much, if not more than you love yourself."

"But to know that I'm not the first in your life~!"

"Oh, you know I love you, _anata_!"

I blinked and crawled out of the cage of my father's arms, snorting when neither noticed my absence. Why was it that most of their love-y dove-y scenes occurred with me in the middle?

Sighing, I righted my slightly disarrayed kimono and walked quietly to a faraway sakura tree, pressing a little palm against the shiny smoothness of the bark. A pleasant sort of heat thrummed down my fingers and to my hands as petals rained down around me. How peaceful. A little smile found itself on my lips, and I stepped backward.

"Ah." My voice coincided with another's, both ringing in unison as I bumped into someone. His hand rested on my left shoulder as he righted me, and blinking, I whirled around to face the stranger.

The first thing I noticed underneath the alarming coat of pink petals was dark flyaway hair and a gentle quirk of the lips on a mild, young face. Black eyes—they mirrored my own, as dark as obsidian and as clouding as the night—stared back at me. My sight caught note of his red martial arts uniform, short braid, and glowing red pacifier before my mind bleeped and froze.

Oh. Fon, the Storm Arcobaleno.

"Hello."

"Hello," I returned unsurely, fidgeting under his steady gaze. "Who are you?" I kept up appearances. What I really wanted to ask was, 'What are you doing here?'

"I'm Fon," the infant answered, letting his hand drop and reconnect with his other appendage inside his sleeves. "I presume you are Kyouya?" His eyes looked entirely out of place on his face—wide and yet not, innocent and yet dark. Was this what I looked like? I had yet to encounter a mirror.

"Don't call me that," I snapped, frowning and feeling my hands ball into fists. "Only my parents can call me by my first name."

He didn't even blink. "Then, Kyo-kun."

"Don't call me that either!"

As if amused, the baby—no, _man_, my mind reminded me—raised a hand to his lips, tapping on his cheek. "Then what shall I address you as?"

I was irritated. What was he playing at? "I—whatever! Call me however you want. What are you doing here anyway?" I forcibly relaxed my hands and turned away slightly. There should be people around here to make sure no one got in!

His reply made me stop my fuming, and instead made my jaw drop. "Well, I'd hoped to see my only nephew, but if you'd like me to leave, Kyouya, then I have better places to be." Fon didn't stop smiling as he also turned away, padding over to where I finally noticed an old man standing, waiting for the martial artist.

Wait, what? _This_ was my uncle? _He_ was my uncle? My uncle was _Fon of the Arcobaleno?_

The only thought that I could process was, Wow, Nika would be so happy to know this. As it was, _I_ wasn't.

"Stay." Grudgingly I caught his sleeve and yanked him back. "Okaa-san wanted to see you, so go see her." Then, grimacing, I half pulled, half dragged him over to where my parents were still sweetly (read: mushily) acting like lovebirds.

"Okaa-san!" I called with an embarrassed scowl on my face, "Your super important Gēgē is here to see you!" My mother, who had been just about to be kissed on the cheek by my father, blinked and pulled back. A shining, joyous smiled overtook her flushed face.

"Fon-gēgē! You came!"

Fon gestured with his hand loftily. "As if I wouldn't, little sister. With or without your over-the-top blackmailing."

Waving her hand, the brunette exclaimed, "But you actually came! I haven't seen you in years; and don't forget how angry I still am at how you didn't even bother to show up for my wedding, baby shower, or Kyouya's birth. I wasn't over-the-top at all!" All of this was said with a rather ominous smile. I could feel Fon shiver in my grasp, and the action brought a smirk to my face.

"I-I told you," he said helplessly, backing up the most minuscule of amounts, "I was busy. Those three days happened to coincide with the days in which I was desperately needed."

Huffing, Tsubame rested her hands on her hips. "Well, at least you're here now. I almost thought I had to leak the details of that one night in Xing'an with the Italian woman—"

"Stop!" Fon shouted, mortified. "I'm sorry, just don't say it!" He blanched, his face now a curiously deep shade of scarlet.

…As an eighteen-year-old man myself, I was curious. What _had_ happened in Xing'an with an Italian woman…?

Tittering, my mother leaned back against my father, hugging his arm. "If you say so, Gēgē."

All the while a bemused smile was plastered to Kisuke's face, and he went through the motions of, "Oh, hi, I'm your brother-in-law," and "It's nice to finally meet you," with Fon as if he'd been turned into an automaton.

Meanwhile, I was aghast, though calming down—almost warming to the situation.

If a twenty-three-year-old florist could put him in place, somehow the thought that such an important person was my uncle wasn't that unappealing at all.

**{KHR18KHR}**

I take back what I said.

"You're doing it wrong." Resisting the urge to break the expensive, if worn, brush in my hand, I continued drawing my hand down and then over, making light and efficient movements. Beside me, Fon observed the calligraphy on the rice paper.

"Stop looking over my shoulder," I intoned, irritated. "I thought you were out training."

"I finished."

A single tendril of ink curled across the paper. "Ah. Then why are you here?" Damn it. Now I had to start over. Scowling, I crumpled up the paper, unmindful of the ink stains on my fingers.

Humming, Fon moved from behind me and peered down at the fresh sheet. "I want to get to know you better, Kyouya." He pointed at the new line I'd begun to draw. "You're gripping the brush wrong. If you grip it like that, the horizontal lines with be skewed."

My grip wasn't wrong. "Okaa-san showed it to me because my hands are too small to wrap around the brush. She said she'd show me the usual grip once I'm older."

"Oh?" The Arcobaleno blinked. "Let me try."

I handed him the brush with some curiosity. Fon wasn't much bigger than I was, but still both taller and with larger hands. Such was to be expected, I supposed; weren't the Arcobaleno two years old (physically at least)?

"Ah." We both watched as the brush slipped from his fingers and clattered on the tatami mat. "This is a… surprise, though to be expected. I haven't held a brush in many years."

For a moment there he simply stood and stared at the black ink at his feet like a frozen statue. A blank look of shock covered his face, and I frowned because the expression didn't quite suit the normally placid man's face. What could he be thinking? Was it about his curse? About who he had been before becoming a human gatekeeper?

Suddenly I wished I knew how the story was meant to end.

"Fon," I said hesitantly, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently picking up the brush, "let's go to the kitchen. I'm taking a break." He faltered at my touch, body stuttering for a moment, then nodded. An odd smile that didn't quite reach his eyes pulled at his face, and in a second the man appeared as composed as ever.

A fait tremor, unknown to the naked eye, traveled up my arm.

"A break, you say? Yes… I do believe it is time for a break," murmured Fon. He gave me a side-along glance, thoughtful, and the two of us plodded down to the kitchen. For the time being, I kept silent; I didn't keep track, but this was probably the first time we (I) could stand each other's presences. I certainly didn't like him, but hey—I wasn't one to kick family when they were down.

Other people, of course, were free game.

I climbed up the mini-ladder to reach the cabinet that held all of the cups. Pondering for a moment, I grabbed my designated cup and a guest cup for Fon, and then hopped down. Though my balance could use some work, I was proud to note that I didn't stumble on my way down.

"Is tea fine with you?" I questioned stoically, making my way to the old teapot on the stove.

My uncle looked away from where he was examining a new picture frame—Tsubame, Kisuke and I had taken that photo on their second wedding anniversary just two months ago—and smiled at me. "Yes."

Huh. Deciding to be the good host, I continued, "Do you have a preference for any type or brand? We have several kinds of teas here."

"Ginseng, if you have it."

After rummaging around in the tea shelf (yes, we did indeed have a tea shelf), I found the ginseng. It came from a brand that I rather liked, and I could see no other ginseng tea bags. I gnawed on my lip for a moment, eyes lingering on the jasmine on the bottom right corner where my parents knew I could access, then shrugged. Kisuke never let me drink ginseng for some reason or other—I didn't know why, but maybe it was because he didn't want me to use it all or something? In that case, wouldn't he have bought more than just one batch?

Whatever. I ripped open the packages and dropped the bags into the boiling water to let it steep. After that, I stood awkwardly while Fon resumed examining the various pictures and tapestries around the house. Personally I preferred a quiet rest, but with Fon there I felt awkward. Were we supposed to talk? Not talk? Drink tea in silence? Somehow that wasn't what I had imagined when I had suggested a break.

"You're a bit small to be my mom's Gēgē." Crap, that wasn't what I'd meant to say!

"I suppose so."

Aaaand, I just made the tension worse. "How old are you, then?"

He paused. "How old do you think I am?"

To be honest, I didn't know. He could be any age from forty-seven to seventy-four. But he stared expectantly at me in a way I didn't know an infant could look, and once again I wondered if that was what I looked like to other people. Did Fon think I was weird? A year-old infant wasn't supposed to be able to speak, calligraph, or even handle a teapot. Then again, a two-year-old toddler shouldn't be able to do so either; was not questioning me his way of staying nonchalant about his own capabilities?

"Bah. You can be how old you want to be," I grumbled, toddling over to the refrigerator for a chewy snack. Eugh. I hated the texture—I much preferred meat—but my teeth constantly itched and _annoyed the heck_ out of me. I could be teething, but somehow the feeling was just… _more_ than that. I wanted to bite everything in sight, to _tear_ things with my teeth. It was both disconcerting and irritating at the same time.

How frustrating! Kisuke had proposed getting me a teething ring, but there was no way I'd stoop so low. I rather liked _uirō_, though, so the rice cake would do until the _damn aching in my teeth_ whittled away to nothing. …_If_ the itching ever left. There was a sinking suspicion that the feeling would only grow stronger as I matured.

If anything, the sight of the sweets made Fon smirk a little. "You have a sweet tooth, Kyouya?"

"Oh can it, old man," I scoffed, pouting (not! I was nineteen, darn it!) as I violently masticated the traditional dessert. "My teeth just really itch, that's all."

Fon looked floored. His eyes widened in something akin to alarm. "Really? You're rather young."

What, was it so shocking that my gums ached? "Hello? I only have ten teeth? I'm still teething."

"Ah, but…" Something crept into his expression, and I frowned as I chewed. "That sounds like it really hurts."

"Bones are growing out of my gums," I pointed out sardonically. "Of course it's going to hurt. Well, not so much as hurting… It's more of just an itch like I told you. Nothing much."

That thoughtful look was back. Fon hummed and rose from his seat cushion to address the pot of ginseng tea. As he removed the lid, a strong, earthy scent filled the room that heavily reminded me of ginger and loam. It wasn't a nice, perfume-like fragrance, but I didn't mind it. If anything, the smell was refreshing, and I curiously observed as my elder poured some of the tea into my cup.

It was warm, first and foremost. The heat seeped gently into my palms. Steam rose in little wisps, and I exhaled, watching the smoky tendrils drift and dance away. Fon took a sip, sighing. Cautiously, I stared down into the tea again before tilting it to my lips.

"Is ginseng your favorite?"

"No," he answered, "but it's a second favorite. My favorite is oolong."

Aah. Oolong was also my mother's favorite. Absently I chewed on another uirō, feeling an odd, nervous energy pulse through my body. I drummed my fingers on the table, a fidgety action that irritated me—in both my past life and now. My eyes blinked rapidly.

Fon looked normal. Well, if not normal—since I wasn't one to judge after so little time—then comparable to how he looked when he arrived two days ago. A calm air surrounded him, and I didn't really feel like saying something to disturb the now comfortable silence.

But the drumming. My fingers couldn't stop. Weird. Why did I feel so jumpy? I took another sip of the ginseng tea before pausing and regarding the herbal drink.

What was it that Kisuke had said so very long, long ago? Something about ginseng? I hadn't caught it…

Oh, right. Pregnant women and children should not ingest any ginseng because apparently it'd mess up like ten thousand hormones or something.

…Fuck.

As calmly as I could, I moved over to the sink to dump the (admittedly tasty) tea down the drain and grabbed another cup. What now? Was I supposed to throw up what little tea I had already ingested? Not only was that absolutely gross, but I had several qualms with willingly subjecting my new little teeth to stomach acid.

…I just drank some water.

"Is ginseng not to your tastes?" I blinked and regarded Fon as he placed his cup back on the polished wood table. "You could have told me."

Well, it wasn't a matter of taste, more of the fact that ingesting it in a larger dose could have killed me. But I didn't say that, because then he'd probably feel bad and I'd feel like a jackass for letting a grown man think he'd accidentally poisoned his only nephew. At least, I think he'd feel bad.

I nodded. "It's a bit spicy," I said randomly, throwing in the first adjective that I could think of and hoping he wouldn't catch the fib. "Um. I usually drink jasmine."

He stared at me as I gulped down a full cup of water. "Are you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Damn it. I'd answered too quickly. To mask the slip-up, I went back to the refrigerator to grab some more of the _uirō_ that Tsubame always kept on hand for moment like these. That is, when my teeth really hurt. Somehow the pain was more intense than usual—as if amplified by the effects of the ginseng.

That seriously pissed me off. What kind on an idiot am I?

"You're fidgeting," answered Fon with a quirked eyebrow, "and whatever did that poor rice cake do to deserve such violent bites?"

"My teeth hurt, remember?" I sniped irritably as I stuffed the sweet in my mouth with little fanfare. What pissed me off even more was the fact that I was now full and my teeth still needed to chomp on something that would abate the itching. What else could I chew on?

A pacifier, my mind suggested. I'd never used one, but early on my parents had bought a couple just in case I needed them so I could shut up. Seeing as I was even more quiet than expected, the pacifiers had been useless.

But now… No! I was nineteen years old—I wasn't about to suck on a freaking pacifier! But fuck, did my gums ache, and as the seconds trickled by the angrier I got.

(Besides, I think if I might have bitten the pacifiers in half had I gotten my teeny little hands on them.)

"That bad, hmm?" As if reading my mind, Fon grabbed my chin and tilted my head up. "Open your mouth."

I did so with a perplexed expression on my face. This situation, while odd in and of itself, probably looked weirder to any onlookers—heck, I was getting more weirded out by the second. He appeared to inspect my teeth, then my gums, and finally nodded while he held a hand up chest level.

"Hit me."

I'm sorry, what? I stared at him, barely remembering to close my jaw, and didn't move. "Hit you?"

Fon, the little bastard, just smiled and nodded again. "Hit me," he repeated. "It will make you feel better."

"How in the world is hitting you going to make the pain in my mouth go away?" Of course I was skeptical; nothing made sense with this guy!

Humming, Fon shrugged in a tiny, awkward movement. "Try it and see what happens." Then he clammed up, dropped into a stable stance that I didn't recognize, and quirked an eyebrow at me.

Cheeky bastard. It made me want to bite the hand he offered, if only to make him annoyed. He never got angry with anyone, and was completely indifferent at all times. Really, how could he be so nonchalant about being a toddler?!

What seriously, seriously pissed me off, though, was how I was still hung up about being in this body for only one measly little year and yet he had no problems moving around, interacting with others, and being so damn calm when he'd been a baby for who-knows-how-long.

I loved my parents. They loved me too, and even treated me with a sentient caution that no parents had with other children. I appreciated them for that fact, but even sometimes they'd treat me like a child, make decisions for me, even attempt to get my to dress up and play games with them.

Like a real child that I was not.

I suppose the real clincher was just my own guilt. Every day the same question went through my mind—are you unhappy yet? Are you guilty yet? Don't you remember who you are? Don't you remember whose life you stole?

I was guilty. But instead of sulking and moping, I redirected my anger—misdirected it—onto Fon, my new uncle that really didn't deserve my stupid angsting.

I was beyond pissed off.

Only, it was at _myself_.

It was no surprise when I lunged forward, mental memory corresponding with physical coordination to execute a simple, if correct, punch, that when my fist met his hand, the appendage didn't give at all. What surprised me, however, was the fact that, for a brief, blissful moment, the aching in my gums that had plagued me for the past six months had finally, finally abated.

I was so shocked, elated, and terrified that I yelped and tipped backward, landing on the hard bamboo floor.

What the heck?

(Years later, that moment would be when Fon first realized my propensity for fighting. I'm glad that he hadn't commented.)

**{KHR18KHR}**

For centuries, the Xun family has carried a curse. In recent years it's been diagnosed as some sort of mental condition that, while merely an annoyance at early ages, causes the descendants to inherit a sharp, steadily growing pain in the gums. It's entirely genetic, and purely mental. Perhaps it had derived from the first of the clan; no one is sure, and there is no way to find out.

The pain disappears for a short moment through physical exertion. More specifically, causing pain to another sentient being. It's twisted, messed up, and a menace to all involved. It's just there.

The Xun family is a fighting family.

When Hibari Tsubame, neé Xun, married Hibari Kisuke, I inherited that curse.

When Fon explained this to me, I bit his arm.

.

.

.

**A/N: Yes, Fon is his uncle. Yes, Fon's last name is Xun (which means swift). Yes, the reason why canon!Kyouya likes to 'bite' things is because he has a mental condition. Does this really exist?**

**Probably not, but this is fanFICTION for a reason.**

**Oh yeah; for those who don't know what sakurayu is, it's a clear salty tea made with pickled sakura flowers. It's a good tea for prospective marriages, generically meaning to symbolize a clear future. In this case, it's just to celebrate Kyouya's first birthday and to gear up for his future.**

**QUESTION: For any of you out there, what do you guys think about Tsubame and Kisuke? ^^**


	4. Chapter 4

Do As You Like Chapter Four

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own KHR; Amano Akira does. I don't even own any g-pens to draw with… /sob.**

**{KHR18KHR}**

It came as no surprise to my parents when I entered preschool that I had a disposition for hitting my classmates whenever they annoyed me or happened to unfortunately be within my vicinity when I became too irritated with the now-stabbing, throbbing, hot mess that was my teeth. Three weeks into my new class, both Kisuke and Tsubame had met with my teacher a number of times. All cases regarded my "habit for violence and misdemeanor. What on earth are you teaching that child?"

The first time it happened, both of them had laughed, flashed brilliant, toothy smiles, and handed the teacher a note. I still don't know what it had said; regardless, the very next day it seemed that the long-time, fifty-two-year-old schoolteacher assigned to Hiyoko Class had decided to journey to the Bahamas for a vacation. No one knew when she'd be back.

The second time I received an infraction, only Kisuke had shown up to discuss my behavior. And yet, despite my early perception of him (he seemed pretty mellow, if a guy can be called mellow when he acted like a hyped up squirrel when he got excited), my father was dangerous. He wasn't particularly nasty or anything—just sharp and edgy in the way knives tended to be. If one held the handle with care, there was little chance of the blade piercing skin that wasn't meant to be pierced.

The new teacher—this time I had actually learned her name before she ran off, which was Tsubaki Ayumi—had been young, though fairly stringent with her expectations. Of course, me being me, I had violated nearly all of her safety and behavioral codes within the first ten minutes. She'd planned on giving my (admittedly) young father a dressing down. He blinked, gave her a slip of paper like the one before, and stared at her unsettlingly. Then he grabbed my hand (I'd long since passed being physically held in public) and we exited through the front entrance.

Tsubaki Ayumi also left the day after our meeting, also to the Bahamas. This had been five days into the school year; none of my "peers" had any idea why all of these weird women kept introducing themselves and then leaving.

For my part, I was bewildered and yet pleased. Even though I should have felt guilt, should have apologized to someone for sending people off on the bus and never seeing them again, all I could think of was how completely awesome, weird, awesome, and absolutely amazing my family was.

(If one, well, looked past the whole curse/mental thing.)

I had pride in being a Hibari. I had pride in being from this clan.

I was so happy all the time that I hardly noticed when I became ostracized and feared throughout the school for beating up bullies and irritations.

Preschool passed by in a whirl of pleasure and amusement. I had actual, live organisms to harm. I no longer needed to stomach the pain by myself, needing to be knocked out by my mother whenever the pain grew in sharp spikes.

Neither Kisuke, Tsubame, nor even Fon could figure out why the pain had manifested so early in my life. I was an anomaly, an oddity in the family tree that would supposedly grow stronger than any Hibari before me.

They often debated my nature over tea whenever Fon spared the time to visit. I never gave them any indication that I knew what they were talking about, nor did I tell them the answer to their questions.

**{KHR18KHR}**

Kindergarten. As I allowed my mother to fuss over my appearance in the mirror, I figured that life had finally settled down. I had now established a reputation based on fear and rumors, and I fully intended to keep it that way.

I didn't need to go to school; Kisuke and Tsubame had made that clear on my first day of preschool, when they pulled me aside and asked if I really wanted to go to school. I said that I did. It didn't really matter, anyway, since I was lightyears ahead of the school curriculum. No, the only reason I attended a public school was to learn more about the society. There wasn't much I could learn about the people of Namimori from inside a traditional Japanese mansion, after all.

"There," my mother chirped as she ruffled my hair so that it hung around my head like a flyaway nest of bird feathers. "You look perfect, Kyo-kun." Her deft hands fiddled with final touches at my blue kindergarten uniform, and I smoothed out the billowy outfit.

To many, this was a special day, but for me I could honestly care less. Oh, what, was I supposed to celebrate joining the big kids in class when I could already (unofficially) solve complex algebraic equations?

But my parents smiled so blindingly at me, proud and confident. I could follow their thought process—_oh, Kyouya grew up so quickly!_ Of course young parents would he proud of their child advancing forward. That said, a nasty feeling twisted inside me. I didn't like being treated so childishly.

Perhaps I could see if I could schedule an aptitude test so I could skip grades and be closer to people at least five years under my mental age. It would certainly do wonders for my sanity. Having to do more sets of single-digit equations would rot my IQ to unacceptable levels.

I shuddered, and Kisuke, who had until then been laughing at my mother's fussing, raised a brow. "You okay there, Skylark?"

"Just cold," I half-grunted, half-replied. The spring air whirled about us, rushing by with the occasional sakura petal in its grasp, but the bite of winter hadn't yet evacuated the premises either. I need a scarf or something, I thought to myself.

Maybe I could even make it myself, in black and purple. Maybe I could even stitch the number eighteen onto one end, and the kanji for discipline on the other.

Or maybe not.

"Ready for kindergarten, Kyo-kun?" Tsubame smiled brightly, giving me an expression that lit up the dawning sky and shone brighter than the lamps at our front gate. She clutched my right hand while Kisuke held my left, despite protests that I really didn't mean.

I could indulge myself, right? I couldn't remember the last time I'd been held or touched in my last life. Human contact was nice.

Only too soon, the three of us ascended the stairs to Namimori Elementary. A crowd absconded away from a large billboard as we approached, and I gave my parents an incredulous look as they scoffed.

After finding my class, both left to go do their jobs, and I settled into my seat on the floor. Around me, the parents who had chosen to observe the first day of school whispered and gossiped with each other. Do you see him? Oh, yes, he's that _demon_ child, isn't he? I heard he made little Takuto-kun from next-door cry in front of the class! Well, _I_ heard that he broke a first-grader's arm! She's _still_ in the hospital due to trauma!

I wrinkled my nose, shakily brushing off the comments like a duck shaking off water. Both of those kids should have known better than to be near me during their bullying escapades—did that old crone know that her "little Takuto-kun from next door" liked to cut random girls' hair just to see them cry? Did she know that Misa, the girl I'd apparently traumatized, had been going around stealing baby birds from nests and then leaving them to die once she got bored? It wasn't that I'd targeted them either; they were just the wrong people at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Sometimes even _I_ felt like my very existence was just some contrived coincidence.

I shivered again, discreetly huddling into myself to keep warm. Goosebumps dotted my skin, and I tried to keep an open ear on the teacher's stories and little lessons, but eventually I toned her out in favor of glancing out the window. By now the sky had lightened to a warm blue shade, with little wispy clouds lazily drifting by every now and then. From my viewpoint they looked so close that if I squinted and held out my arm, I could practically reach them—

"Goodness, what a terrible child! He's probably mentally retarded—maybe even a sociopath!"

I let my hand drop into my lap, clenching my jaw when I couldn't quite ignore the pain in my mouth at those words. A spark of indignation flared through me—I was most certainly not a sociopath or retarded! It was an insult to me as well as my parents. Grounding my teeth, I began to violently wrench at the hem of my uniform. Seeing as I'd ruined my first set by ripping it, Kisuke had grabbed a sewing kit and reinforced my current attire with strands of Kevlar from his old bulletproof vest. It still didn't stop me from making little tears in the fabric.

"Oh, how horrible! He's so violent! How was he allowed into this class?"

"Aikawa-san," I spoke abruptly, standing up in a single, swift movement, "I'm going to go outside." The teacher, a mild, perpetually baffled woman, blinked owlishly as I headed for the doorway.

"Wha—Hibari-kun? What's wrong?" She waved a stuffed rabbit in her arms, having been in the middle of vocalizing a child's tale. "You don't have to leave if you haven't done anything wrong."

"But I will," I returned tonelessly and blandly, "if I have to stay here and listen to old women gossip about me, my parents, and my questioned intelligence and mental state. I'm going to pretend I've been ordered out, and you're going to pretend that I just stabbed those women with a pencil. It's something that I'm on the verge of doing, so I request that you just pretend."

As I slid open the door, I could just barely hear two audible 'eep!'s before a storm of hushed whispering foamed up behind me.

I sighed and hoped that the parents would leave soon. I much preferred to be disliked and left alone than disliked and be made known of the fact.

I needed a nap. It was way too early for this crap.

**{KHR18KHR}**

I stalked the hallways dispassionately, a stony look on my face. In my hand I grasped a thin book from the upperclassmen's library. Thankfully the librarian hadn't asked why a kindergartener was checking out a book he couldn't possibly be able to read.

That said, the book wasn't very interesting, just a cliché rendering of archetypes I'd read before. I halfheartedly flipped through the novel before tucking it under my arm and climbing a flight of stairs.

Namimori Elementary was built like a maze; hallways led down to sections of the school no longer used, and for newcomers the building was a confusing myriad of identical routes that led to different places. Because the school had formerly been an abandoned high school and no one had bothered to fix up the older parts of the building, several children got lost within their first week.

I spent the majority of my kindergarten year navigating these abandoned areas during recess or whenever the teacher deemed fit to have me stand outside. Perhaps that was another reason for the school to dislike me; no one saw me most of the time, and when they did it was always for me to injure someone.

As I meandered past empty classrooms and storage closets, I pretended that I was in a ghost town, letting flights of fancy dictate my path. To be honest, the only thing that differed the two sections of the school—the inhabited and uninhabited areas—were copious layers of dust and broken plaster. No one knew why exactly Nami High had been disbanded, and it had happened decades ago. No one cared anymore.

Well, not exactly. I cared. There was a kinship that hung in the air as I stalked past old classrooms, eventually making my way to the old and rundown reception room. I'd fixed up some areas, added a chair—Tsubame had always wondered why I came home day after day covered in a fine coating of dust. Here was where I had set up base.

See, the reception room out-looked the entirety of Namimori, strategically placed in a way that kept it hidden from normal streets. I had a bird's eye view of my town. But really, all I did was sleep there; sleep seemed to be the only thing that could chase away the aching in peace, and I slept in copious amounts. Oddly enough, despite the amounts of sleep I got daily, I was no more a morning person than my mother was. She couldn't function until after ten in the morning, and neither could I.

I suppose that I should be worried about my oversleeping, but I didn't really care. On some days I listlessly stared at the sky, pondering on my existence, and on the other days, the better days, I spent my time in class drawing, my time at home having lessons with my mother. Something was wrong with me, but I couldn't bother to fix it.

What should I do?

Why am I here?

Am I doing the right thing?

Am I going to change things?

Am I happy?

Am I happy?

Am I happy?

Yeah. Sometimes.

I wondered if everyone back in my old life had moved on. Had they forgotten me? Did they still mourn me? Did they still speak about me? Were they even alive? A lot could change in just five years; I wasn't sure if my existence had been worth anything. But now, with Kisuke, Tsubame, and Fon, I felt more loved than I'd ever been. They would remember me. Of that I had no doubt.

That was why I liked the old school buildings: I'd remember them, and unless someone tore it down, that room would hold traces of my existence.

…Wait, am I having an existential crisis?

I think too much, I groused to myself, getting up from my chair and stretching. The clock in the corner told me an hour had passed. The teacher wouldn't harass me for being gone so long, but I still raised a brow at how long I'd just sat there in that room. It was weird; I was never so dopey in the middle of the day. After kicking a stuffed animal that I had specifically brought from the old sewing clubroom _to kick_, I left the room, leaving the book behind.

This was where I was supposed to just head back, ignore those old ladies who'd probably still be gossiping, and then go home by myself because my parents didn't have the time to pick me up. But something stopped me.

A little kid was crying somewhere in one of the old hallways.

For a moment I froze and contemplated simply ignoring the sounds and heading back, but I hit myself and turned on my heel. It was bad enough, I suppose, to get relief from violence, so I wasn't about to let some lost kid end up spending the night at a school (which, admittedly, happened far more often than I liked; some parents just didn't have the time to go looking with all the work they had. Japan really was kind of crappy to make adults work so long just to pay for their family's necessities).

I located the crying (whimpering now) inside the home economics room, which was odd since this was on the deeper end of the abandoned area. No wonder the kid was crying—this place looked completely different. Cracks spider-webbed along the wall, and dust sat like infected snow on the ground. Stains littered the area, and had I not been older than I was, I would have also darted into the home ec. room for some shelter.

The door creaked as I pushed it aside, dust rising in gray clouds in front of me. The soft keening noises stopped at my entrance, and I narrowed my eyes slightly. "Hello? Are you lost?" My voice cracked due to not being used for some time, and I frowned in dissatisfaction.

Fluffy brown hair was the first thing I saw, and for a second there I thought that some small animal had died on the kid's head. But, my eyes told me, that was his natural hairstyle. He looked like a gravity-defying bush had taken residence atop his head. Caramel eyes were rimmed with red; tear tracks snaked down his cheeks. Those lips looked like they'd been gnawed raw. Snot ran from his nose.

This kid—a preschooler, I observed—was a hot mess. Dust covered most of his uniform, and his face was marred by a multitude of black smudges, possibly from the sludge in the ovens. He took one look at me, eyes widening, before squeaking and launching himself at me like a kamikaze bean sprout.

He was _that_ tiny.

With my arms full of Uncontrollably Sobbing Toddler, I uncomfortably dragged the two of us outside the room and back into the hallway. How in the world had he gotten so messed up? I attempted to ignore the mucus now seeping into my shirt, failed, and sighed. His hair gave underneath my hand, smoothing up with my patting.

"What's your name?" I grunted, heaving him forward. When he didn't move, just clutched me like he was a barnacle, and something inside me frayed just a bit. Maybe it was my patience (of which I really had none). "Oi." I rapped him over the top of his head, and this time he answered.

"T-Tsu-kun," the boy hiccupped, rubbing his eyes and squealing when the dust irritated the tear ducts even more. I couldn't call him cute, but the sight did melt something in my chest. He was… endearing. "Mama calls me Tsu-kun."

"Okay then, Tsu-kun," I gently said, pulling him off of me. He gave some space but didn't fully let go, as if afraid that I would run off and leave him there alone. Kami, I was Hibari Kyouya, not a bully (against innocent children). "How did you get here?"

Blinking rapidly as tears began to once again streamed down his face, Tsu-kun whispered in a little, crushed tone that gave me nearly as many answers as his reply did.

"A-ah, eh, Misuzu-kun s-said his Onii-chan knew where Sen, um, Sensei keeps the candy. Uuuu… Misuzu-kun's Onii-chan and his f-friends said they'd give me a wh-whoooole big bowl of candy if I come with them, so I went with them, but then they disappeared and I got lost, and then a big SPIDER came outta nowhere and jumped into my hair and I screamed and ran into a wall and then I tripped and then I found a door so I went in but it had these monster thingies that Mama uses but they're totally DIFFERENT AND SCARY and then I fell again but inside the monster thingies and I thought I was gonna dieeeee!" The boy wailed in a wallop of a run-on sentence. I stared at him, my mind blank as I processed what he said, then blinked and shook my head.

So apparently this kid fell for the oldest trick in the Kids Book of Bullying For Dummies. From what I could see he wasn't injured. Just emotionally scarred. His skin, though, was cold to the touch, almost wet, so I frowned. "Why are you wet?"

"…Misuzu-kun's Onii-chan's friend accidentally spilled some of his water on me."

Palm, meet face. "And you still went with them?"

The kid rubbed his eyes and nodded with a slight shiver that made him look like a tiny kitten. Which, really in my mind, equated to cute and pathetic. But mostly cute. Tears continued to pour down, and his cheeks reddened to a deep, miserable shade. I gritted my teeth; my lips twisted in a bit of exasperation but mostly anger towards this so-called 'Misuzu-kun'. Finally, I sighed, and patted his hair again.

"Here." I shrugged off my uniform to reveal the long-sleeved shirt I had on underneath. Tsu-kun gaped at me like I was a lunatic, unsure what to make of me holding out the little curtain of mangled blue fabric. Well, I would be too if someone just stripped and held out their shirt/dress thingy to me, but at that point I was tired and sleepy, not to mention beyond irritated with my teeth.

"H-huh?"

"Put it on or I'll bite you." I really would, I realized the moment the words passed through my lips. "Your shirt is wet; you'll catch a cold. Put it on."

He did obediently as he was told, fumbling with the damp article of clothing. As he struggled with pulling it over his head, I decided to help him by yanking it away. He squealed, but pulled himself free and threw on my admittedly bigger shirt. His shivering stopped, I noted with some satisfaction, but the expression on his face still exuded gloom. Silently I grabbed his hand and began walking.

"U-um," he stuttered after a short period of silence, "What's your name?" I cast him a side along glance, then turned back to the path before us.

"Hibari," I reported. I could barely see the four-year-old blink owlishly out of the corner of my eye. He smiled brightly, an expression that made his face look ridiculous when coupled with all of the dust and dirt.

Tsu-kun tightened his grip on my hand and pulled closer. "Then can I call you 'Hibari-san?"

I scooted a bit to the left to keep from being smothered by dust and his bright presence. With how weak he was, I needed to fight the urge to beat him up; as if in response, my ache flared viciously. A puff of air passed through my nostrils as I grunted. "Do as you like."

He continued to beam at me the entire way back to the elementary section.

**{KHR18KHR}**

"So I heard you made a friend," Fon commented loftily over a cup of ginseng tea. "That's nice."

My tone as I replied was anything but light. "He's not my friend. And how do you even know? We only met today!"

"I didn't," the man answered smugly, taking a sip. I eyed him evilly for both the trick and the ginseng tea. Somehow or another he'd found out about that incident years ago, and laughed at me.

He had _laughed_ at me for trying to keep him from feeling bad!

Tossing my empty cup of jasmine tea at him, I got up and walked away from the table. "You, sir, are a jerk."

He caught it like he always did. Gracefully. "But it is nice that you are socializing. Your parents were getting worried."

I paused as a cold feeling washed over me. "They were?"

"They are your parents," was his explanation, as if that solved everything. "Of course they would worry when their child continued to receive notifications from the teacher about harming others. You have never once brought home a friend. …So tell me about this boy."

I rolled my eyes and turned to face him once more. "What's with that tone? You sound like I'm going off on clandestine dates. We're both guys. We've only met once. We don't even know each other's full names!"

"So you call each other by nicknames?"

"Fon!" I reach out blindly and grabbed the first thing that came to hand—an antique vase—to throw it at him. Before it could fly from my hold, however, something pulled my arm back.

"Woah there. Skylark? What's going on?"

My eyes widened in surprise. "Otou-san! What are you doing here?" Kisuke stood in the doorway with a hand on the doorframe, carry and easygoing slouch that matched the loose kimono that he usually wore at home. His bright smile made my ire melt away as he, quick as lightning, snatched me up and held my body against his chest.

"What, I'm not welcome in my own kitchen after getting off work early to spend time with my son?" He inquired good-naturedly, smiling broadly. Kisuke, I had noticed early on, never just smiled; he smiled brightly or broadly or blindingly—or really, he just grinned. "And don't throw the vases, you know how Tsubame gets when things get broken."

Sulking a bit, I pulled at his hair to elicit a wince. "I was going to throw it at Fon."

My father thoughtfully tilted his head. "Well okay, if it's at Fon. Just not at anyone else."

"Definitely," I _semi_-chirped, because Hibari Kyouya never chirps. "I wouldn't throw the really expensive ones anyway. They shatter too easily."

"That they do, Kyouya, that they do," said Kisuke with a sagely nod that let me pinch his slightly stubbly cheeks. "Ow."

"I am still here, if you two would like to know," quipped Fon with an unamused mien.

"Oh, we do know," Kisuke and I said at the same time. "We just don't care."

"…The abuse I get from this family."

Rolling my eyes, I shimmied from my father's arms. "If it makes you feel any better, you drama queen, everyone knows that if I throw it at you of course you're going to catch it. Anyone else would drop it."

Fon grunted and flicked a toothpick at me. It grazed the corner of my cheek, stinging but without drawing blood. "On another note, tell me more about your friend, Kyouya."

I glared murderously at the braided martial artist as the man behind me gasped and bent down to grasp my shoulders. "Skylark," said my father with a sort of child-like awe, "you've made a _friend_?"

I didn't like how he emphasized the word, 'friend'. "He's not my friend," I denied.

Fon smirked at me and put down his tea, reclining slightly. "Apparently they use nicknames to refer to each other."

"Nicknames?!" I was completely out of my element—never before had I seen Kisuke so radiant. "Tell me more!"

Both men expectantly peered at me, and I blanched. No way. There was no way two fully-grown men were taking such an interest in a five-year-old kid's social life. I mean, I wasn't that bad, right? I wasn't a sociopath! I just didn't like other people that much and I liked to hit them!

Wait, that sounds a bit weird…

Huffing, I let my shoulders tense up in a quasi sort of shrug. "Fine. I met him today after I ditched class and went around the old hallways." On a certain level, curiosity permeated my being. What would they think about me cutting class? About my misbehavior? Certainly both knew how much I disliked school and the school's dislike (and/or fear) of me, but not to the extent that I was out of class more often than in.

Their expressions didn't change. It seemed that they had expected as much from me.

"From what I could make out," I continued reproachfully, "some upperclassmen had been bullying him and made up some half-baked story about candy being in the old school building. He got lost, tripped and fell multiple times. and then wound up in the home economics room crying. Honestly, I just helped him out and gave him my shirt because his was wet."

Kisuke hummed. "So that's why I didn't see your uniform on the hanger."

Fon cocked his head as he poached from my pot of jasmine tea. "Also why you drank jasmine for our conversation—you only make it whenever you are proud of yourself."

"…Do you want to know what happened afterward or not?" Giving them my best menacing glower, I coughed and snatched the teapot away from my uncle. "Hn. I helped him get back to the elementary section, he went back to his class—it was recess, by the way—and I just left him. He promised me he'd rendezvous with me again tomorrow, I guess, and I accepted."

Again, both stared at me, and I resisted the urge to fidget. What was up with them? Fon's brown eyes drilled into me, and Kisuke's grey—_my_ grey—eyes examined my face as if I was some sort of exotic specimen. It was weird, to say the least.

"Kyouya," said the policeman finally, slowly, after a brief lapse, "that is what you call, 'making a friend.'"

"Oh really?" I snarked, wrinkling my nose and moving away from their gazes in a line to the refrigerator. My hand pulled out my ever-stocked personal batch of _uirō_. "I thought friends were all about being faithful minions that would always follow you for shallow reasons."

A troubled look spread over Kisuke's young face. "…I can't tell if you're serious with that comment."

"I'm not!" I hissed, taking a large bite out of the rice cake in order to keep from really running over and biting my father's arm. He's my dad, I told myself, he's Kisuke, you can't bite Kisuke, you love Kisuke, remember? It was a mantra as I vehemently chewed. "Of course I know what friends are; but aren't friends supposed to be forged by flame or some sort of otherwise romantic lie spewed by romantics? I barely know the kid. Tsu-kun just wants to associate with me because he probably knows that I can protect him against bullies—that's it!"

I bit down forcefully on the traditional sweet, hard enough to momentarily forget about the pain and aching. A cloud of stillness descended upon the three of us, making my brows furrow in irritation and unease. What? Had I said something wrong?

"So his name is Tsu-kun?"

"So you'd protect him, huh?"

Kisuke and Fon glanced at each other in bewilderment, having spoken in unison. They turned back.

…I give up. "Yes and yes," I droned listlessly, palming my face in exasperation. "You make out of that however you wish; I'm going to bed. I will see the two of you in the morning."

But the thought niggled at me. Why was I so reticent about claiming that boy as my friend? If not a friend, then what about an acquaintance? My head hurt. As I crawled into my futon, I wondered just what on earth was so special about me meeting Tsu-kun. He was just some normal kid, right?

Besides, Kyouya hadn't had any friends other than Sawada, and that was just tentative, a form of animalistic respect due to being boss and guardian. I rolled on my side and nodded to myself. Yeah. Tsu-kun was just some random kid that'd leave sooner or later. It didn't really matter if I had people other than family to like me, after all.

(And if I was eagerly awaiting the next day like some stupid, idiotic fool, well then, no one had to know.)

.

.

.

**A/N: Awawawa... This is the last chapter that I've written so far, so anything after this will be a bit sporadic depending on my muse and how often school will let me write. Also, are these chapters getting longer or what?**

**I feel like I should explain Kyouya, somehow. He used to be a somewhat antisocial person-kind of like how I am whenever I'm introspective. He's mainly moved on from his death and the loss of his former family, but not entirely. It's only been five years, and he's the type of person that rambles (like me). Eventually his mind will wander, focus on the bad things, and he'll make it a point to balance out the things in his life in a somewhat mechanical way to see if he's happy or not. He's easily provoked and has a certain confidence with strangers. With family, however, he's much more self-conscious. **

**This is my way of introducing Kyouya's need for violence and how he feels about it. If I had to compare the pain, then it's like something scraping your teeth with a sharp nail, and that's just the beginning. Right now, he's at the level of pain tolerance where he can sort-of-not-really accept the fact that his teeth are burning like they're constantly on fire and being agitated by acid. Poor Kyouya. It'd fray my patience as well.**

**Expect Kyouya to be violent in the later chapters! I may or may not make it graphic. Heeeh... Should this story be rated M when I do?**


	5. Chapter 5

Do As You Like Chapter Five

The door slid open abruptly, startling me in the middle of drinking my tea. "Hibari-san!"

I choked on the last gulp, passing it off as a momentary stillness. Still, the boy peered worriedly at me with doe-like eyes, a furrow in his brows. "_Tsu-kun?_" I couldn't quite hide the surprise in my voice. "What are you doing here?"

_Here_ being my reception room. He entered the room somewhat mutely, moving over to pat my back. Ignoring my question, he asked, "Are you okay, Hibari-san? I, eh, choke on my milk all the time; I know what it feels like."

Of that I have no doubt, I thought to myself wryly, brushing off his tiny hand. My eyes lingered on the bruises of his exposed knees as well as the scrapes on his palms. Namimori Elementary really needed to change out the concrete for something smoother, lest the school ground become something reminiscent to a bloody battlefield.

"I'm fine." Shrugging, I gestured to a nearby chair for him to sit down in. It wasn't as new as mine was, seeing as I hadn't expected for anyone other than me to inhabit the room, but it would do. Tsu-kun sat down gingerly, no doubt because he'd fallen down earlier today. "Now answer me: what are you doing here?"

And _how_ did you get here in the first place?

Humming slightly to himself, the accident prone boy studied the room, taking in the bland walls and dim lighting. "You're, um, you're my friend, aren't you, Hibari-san? I wanted to meet you."

"I saw you two days ago," I stated with a raised brow, "and we usually meet at the school entrance. Why did you seek me out here? How?"

The preschooler blinked before tilting his head like a curious animal. "I dunno. I just wanted to find you 'coz it's recess and all, but I don't know where your classroom, um, is. So I started walking, thinkin' to myself, 'You know what, Tsu-kun, I bet Hibari-san's in the old school place,' so I started walking to the old school place just thinking about you, but then I realized I still didn't know where you were, so I just got lost, but then I heard something growly-like and ran away 'coz I bet it was a huge monster since you don't know what lives here, yeah? And then I got really scared and then I wasn't and then I started running super duper fast and then I found you."

He grinned. "Um, hi, Hibari-san."

I wanted to bite him for giving me such a migraine in exchange for organizing that hilariously long anecdote. Instead I pinched the bridge of my nose and took another sip of tea.

"Recess ended twenty minutes ago," I intoned blandly, resting an elbow on my table, my cheek on that elbow. "Azusa-san will be mad at you."

Somehow the thought hadn't registered to him until now, probably due to the fact that he hadn't known the time. "_Hiie!"_ He shrieked with a rapidly paling face. "R-Really?" The boy glanced left and right, looking over to the door he had just entered, before sagging into a resigned heap of bones.

To make him feel better, I patted his head. And then, to make myself feel better, I flicked his forehead.

"Ow!"

"That's what you get for not calculating your time correctly," I snorted, taking another sip of chamomile tea. Aah. There was nothing better than a nice warm cup on a cloudy day. "You know we always meet after school, not in school."

Dejected, Tsu-kun transitioned into his subconscious Make-People-Pity-Me slouch without even noticing its effect on me. My teeth worried my lip in an effort to keep from kicking him because he could not be any harder to beat up. But that was okay. He was Tsu-kun. I was slowly getting used to his… 'wimpyness'.

"But I wanted to be with you," he murmured desolately, bottom lip jutting out as if he were about to cry. My arm twitched. "And besides, Sensei doesn't like me anyway 'coz I'm stupid."

My eyes flashed for a moment, sharpening. "You're not stupid."

"But I _am_." He stubbornly stared down at his hands, and I saw how his fingers balled into tiny little self-deprecating fists. "Everyone says I am, and I know I am 'coz I can't do what everyone else does. I trip and fall all the time, Hibari-san. I _always_ mess up, and—" He met my eyes with tears in his own, the pools shining brightly in the dim room. "—I can't understand _why_."

Now that the picture was clear, I could understand why he had sought me out. But my heart didn't go out to the tiny boy; I wasn't that kind of person, I wasn't a philanthropist. And yet… something inside me that was reserved for that weak, struggling little… _herbivore _twisted painfully as he rubbed his red-rimmed eyes. Only two weeks had passed since we met, and while neither of us could claim that we were particularly close, some sort of bond did exist. I could talk to him about my worries. He could talk to me about his bullies. I wanted to help him, and every day that feeling of wanting to bite him just slowly died away whenever he smiled at me.

He was like some sort of therapy bunny. He was my _friend_.

So I frowned and glared murderously at him as he cried.

"Am I not a human?" I demanded harshly, slamming down my cup so that I wouldn't crush it in my clutch. "Am I not one of this 'everyone'? For your information, _herbivore_," I seethed, "I don't think that you are an idiot. Are you clumsy? Sure. Are you weak? You look _pathetic_. But you're not an _idiot_."

He gave me a wide-eyed stare as I reached over and clamped down on his shoulders painfully enough to elicit a gasp.

"I'm not someone that tolerates idiots. So if you think you're an idiot, _get the fuck out of my presence. Right. Now._"

For a second there I really thought that he would burst into another volley of tears and bolt out of the room. I had resigned myself to being alone before so that I wouldn't hurt the people close to me; I held no qualms about letting this kid go. He didn't deserve to be with an abusive asshole. He didn't need the emotional baggage that came with associating with the resident devil child. If he had ran away at that moment I could have lived with it.

I really should stop expecting things to go the way I want them to.

Tears streaming down his face with snot leaking from his nose, Tsu-kun made some sort of wobbly motion, like a person who had just stepped off from a roller coaster; then he stilled oddly. He let his hair flop into his eyes, and he fell as limp as a rag doll. The sight discomfited me, and I didn't know what to do.

Then he lurched forward, and—

—hugged me tightly, shoulders shaking, tears seeping into my shoulder, tightening that grip of his as if to reassure himself that I was real. My muscles strained—I'd never been hugged so desperately before—but he embraced me all the tighter, little fingers digging into the skin of my back. "Thank you," he whispered hoarsely, "thankyouthankyouthankyou."

"Why are you thanking me?" I wanted to panic. This was way too much physical contact, way too much emotion. An itching sensation traveled up my arms, and I knew that I would soon break into hives. My voice strained with the effort it took not to grab him and hurl that body as far away as I could from my own.

Tsu-kun laughed breathlessly. "Hibari-san believes in me," was his only reply. His heart pressed against my chest, beating furiously in tandem with my own for who-knows-how-long—it could have been ten minutes, thirty, heck, even an hour.

And that was enough. With a bit of effort, I peeled him off and took a deep, fortifying breath. Too much, too much. I could barely breathe. "Yeah, I do, but please don't do that again," I gasped, scratching furiously at the reddened patched on my arm. "I'm getting hives. You know that sappy emotions make me break out!"

Tsu-kun reverted back into his normal self within an instant, squawking. "_Hiie!_ I'm sorry, Hibari-san! Um, uh, w-what can I do to help?"

Grimacing, forced myself to stop scratching and start breathing. "You don't have to do anything," I assured. "Just don't hug me again. As much as I (don't) love hugs, I'm not a fan of the feeling that comes with it."

My parents and I rarely had heart-to-hearts because we all knew that we loved each other. This was the first bit of serious emotion that I had ever shared with another human being. To be honest, it terrified me. Tsu-kun fumbled for a moment, unsure of what to do, before he nodded.

"'M sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

…

"U-Uh, eh, can I buy you some ice cream? Mama gave me some allowance today, so I wanted to get something for us 'coz we're friends, so I, uh, um…"

The bell rang just as I opened my mouth in bewilderment.

"…Oh. Well, okay."

**{KHR18KHR}**

We didn't actually end up getting that promised ice cream. The moment the two of us reached the gate to head to the marketplace, a young, petite woman greeted the boy whose hand I clutched. Both of us gaped at her appearance, but for two entirely different reasons.

Nana? What was she doing here?

And then my mind caught up with me.

"Tsu-kun!" She cried, grabbing my friend and scooping him up into her deceptively thin arms. "I'm here to pick you up, sweetie!"

Sawada Nana. Tsu-kun.

Sawada Tsunayoshi.

_I was friends with __**Tsuna**__._

I wanted to scream. Was I some fool? Had someone given me an idiot ball when I wasn't looking? Damn it! How had I not noticed?!

Tsu-kun. Brown hair and brown eyes. Clumsiness. Bullies. My entire body stilled as both mother and child made small talk about how their days went, my mind whirling at a thousand miles an hour. I stared at the duo that exuded so much happiness that I wanted to claw my eyes out.

Perhaps the reason I hadn't noticed was because I hadn't wanted to. I hadn't wanted to die. I hadn't wanted to be Kyouya. I hadn't wanted to be thrown into this mess. Until now, I had known that I lived in a manga's universe; I just hadn't reconciled with what that really meant, what that really entailed. I wasn't prepared. I had somehow dropped into denial.

I had just wanted to be happy without thinking about the struggles of the coming years.

Nana noticed me when Tsuna broke away and ran over to my frozen form. "This is my friend, Mama! His name's Hibari-san!"

"Ara?" The brunette held her chin and scrutinized me. I didn't look like much; just a random five-year-old with freakishly black hair and gray eyes that reflected too much of my mindset regardless of how much I tried to hide it. Perhaps that was why her gaze softened as she smiled at me. "Hibari-kun, hmm? Are your parents coming to pick you up today?"

"…No," I finally managed to strangle from my throat. "They're both busy with work until eight o'clock today so I'm walking home by myself."

"Well that's understandable," she said with a pleasant nod, since the majority of parents really didn't have the time for frivolities. "Nee, if you're just going to be home alone, how about you come over to play with Tsu-kun? I can make you some snacks!"

I shook my head mechanically. "No, that's really not necess—" I caught Tsu-kun's gaze. "… Okay."

"Oh, wonderful! Okay, let's all walk together, hand in hand! Tsu-kun, do you want to lead the way?"

And that was how we made it to Tsuna's house.

"I'm home!" The housewife called once she unlocked the door with a key hidden inside a hidden slot within the mailbox. A thundering of footsteps raced down the stairs and I barely moved away in time before a large bear of a man grabbed the petite woman and her son in a large and warm embrace.

"Welcome home!" The blond laughed boisterously, kissing Nana squarely on the mouth and lowering her. He also planted one on Tsuna's cheek, but the boy made a face and wiped it off. This was Tsuna's father, I gathered. He sported a worn sleeveless tank top, and his biceps looked to be be bigger than the diameter of my head. His face remained unshaved; his hair untamed. All in all, I couldn't believe that such a man had given creation to the scrawny whelp beside me.

Tsuna pouted and placed his hands on his hips. "Otou-san, you're embarrassing me in front of Hibari-san!" I wanted to point out that I had already seen every embarrassing thing about him and knew about things that still had yet to happen, but held my tongue. "He's probably thinking that you're a weirdo!"

And yeah, I suppose that I could be thinking such. But really, what I _was_ thinking was, 'How come this jackass is here and not in Italy?'

I mean, he was _there_. Tsuna wasn't even _surprised_.

"Hm? Who's this?" Before I knew what was happening, the man's face zoomed up in front of mine, placing me directly before a pair of curious, scrutinizing ochre eyes. Tsuna's father gave me a wide smile, instantly making my guard drop just a little. He didn't seem like a bad guy (but then again, no true evil overlord would appear as such) so I hesitantly let my shoulders slack.

I should say that he exuded an aura—an air of sorts that pulled one in. He had charisma for a grizzly buff man wearing only a wife beater and a pair of wrinkled boxers.

"…Wait, are you a boy or a girl?"

What.

Before I could even protest, this monster of a man pinched my cheeks painfully, turning to Nana. "Oh, honey, this is such a wonderful day! Our little Tsuna-fish has brought home such an adorable girlfriend!"

What.

Tsuna blinked and gave me an odd look. "What's a girlfriend?"

Why should I answer that? How could I answer that?

The construction worker mock-sobbed into his elbow, clutching his wife. "Oh, they grow up so fast!" He wailed.

How the fuck was I supposed to put a stop to this? Plugging his nose and mouth would be ideal, but then he wouldn't be able to breathe, eventually asphyxiate, and Nana and Tsuna would blame me for killing their husband/father. I could stab him with the pen in my pocket, but somehow I doubted something so thin and fragile would be able to pierce that thick skin of his. No, I had to do something else.

I bit him in the ankle.

"What the flunk, holy shiiiiiiiii—take mushrooms!" He bellowed sharply, sucking in a deep breath as Nana stared at him disapprovingly for almost cursing in front of elementary school kids. "You just bit me!"

No shit, Sherlock. I spit out the coppery blood in my mouth, wiping it on my uniform negligently. It was disgusting, yes, but a better alternative to actually ingesting the blood. "Sawada-san, please, refrain from touching me again without permission. Also: I. Am. A. Boy."

"You had to bite me to make a point?" Uncomprehending, the blond exasperatedly examined the blasé way I wiped away the blood around my mouth. "Nana, this kid just bit me!"

Tsuna gave me another weird look. "What?" I defended, scowling. "You know how violent I am! And he touched me!" The boy shook his head with a huff and something like a shrug and a nod put together as if to say, 'Ah, yeah, I can see where you're coming from but you did just bite my absentee bastard of a father.'

Well, maybe the last part was just my interpretation, but that was the gist of it. Rolling my eyes and sighing, I sent the man something vaguely resembling an apology. "Fine, fine. Don't make the same mistake in the future and I will keep from causing grievous bodily harm. That said, I am Hibari Kyouya. I can't help but harm annoyances."

I admit, that could have come out better. Everyone blinked and regarded me with bemused looks.

"Grievous bodily harm—? No, wait. Hibari? You're Hibari Kisuke's son?"

So he knew my father; that was an odd thought. "How would you know the Chief of Police's name?" I latched onto this bit of information and pulled until something gave. "Are you a criminal? Are you on the run?"

A shard of concern and astonishment passed through those eyes as Tsuna's father staggered slightly. "No, I'm not a criminal—"

He's lying, Nika's voice in my head yelled. Look at how his eyes flutter when he says it!

"—honestly, kids these days. You know what, how about the two of you run on upstairs and do kid things while Nana and I have some adult time, hmm?"

That was a skilled aversion. He hadn't answered, avoiding the question, but Tsuna grabbed my hand and dashed up the stairs before I could call the mafioso out on it. The brunet practically dragged me into his room (almost tripping on the way) before closing the door and whirling on me.

"Do you not like my dad or something, Hibari-san?" The kid frowned at me in confusion, blinking frequently. "I mean, I can understand why he thinks you look like a girl—_hiie_!" Tsuna clamped his hands over his mouth as I raised a brow.

I looked like a girl? Really? Me?

"I'm not… mad," I confessed after a moment. No, I was furious. Maybe the ire stemmed from Tsuna's poor mindset, but I didn't know. I just didn't like him. My mind seemed to be in a tug-of-war—one side instantly wanting to follow while the other rebelled as much as it could.

That made me violent, as did all situations in which my mind hurt. I was pissed, because really? Did he not know what Tsuna went through every day?

Tsuna didn't quite believe me, but nodded nonetheless. He gravitated toward my side, a little smile growing on his lips. "Uh, well, how about we play together? I'm sorry I don't have any tea, but, eh, I have some blocks?"

Hah. Blocks. I was twenty-three years old for spirits' sake, not really five.

"Okay."

Using physics and wanton abandon for aesthetics, we made a ten-foot castle complete with a watchtower and moat before Tsuna tripped and knocked the whole lot over. I laughed at him as he rubbed his head, then went down to ask Nana for an ice pack.

"Oh, that's Tsu-kun—always so clumsy! She tittered worriedly, then reached into the freezer and pulled out a tiny bag of ice. In the brief moment that she had kept the door open, I spotted multiple similar bags lining the shelves. So Tsuna tripped at home as often as at school, huh?

"Here you go!" She exclaimed, placing the plastic bag into my hands. I disconcertedly noticed much bigger her palms were than mine. "Can you make sure he doesn't cry too much? Aah, sometimes I wish he could become stronger like his Papa, but Tsu-kun is Tsu-kun, right?"

No, that wasn't right. I gaped at her before numbly nodding my head. "…Okay."

'Okay, okay.' I needed to stop saying that word.

After throwing the ice pack at my friend's head, I flopped down on his bed and kicked a block away from where it jabbed into my foot. I should probably head home soon, I mused, feeling myself nod off. Damn. It had seriously been a while since I slept in a real bed, with real blankets and real pillows. It wasn't that I hated my futon, it was just that Western beds accommodated my tastes the be…

**{KHR27KHR}**

"Hibari-san?" Tsuna blinked, halting in the middle of cleaning up his large wooden blocks. On a certain level, Tsuna had expected his older friend to fall asleep randomly, but now that he could see Hibari-san's calm, smoothed face, he didn't quite know what to do. He let the blocks in his hands clatter to the floor (and man, they had built the bestest castle ever before he'd gone and ruined it), reaching over to pick up the blanket beside the bed and drape it over the terrifying kindergartener.

Hibari-san… was weird. He didn't care about school at all (blasphemy in Azusa-sensei's eyes) and hit other kids seemingly for no reason. Tsuna had heard rumors, of course; even the youngest sections of education held rumors, and the tales floating about Hibari-san showed that he was anything but friendly.

Miki-chan from Tsuna's class claimed that he'd thrown a crayon at her head one time for seemingly no reason. Miyo-kun said that Hibari-san had tripped him in the middle of the hallway. Chuuta-kun, who everyone regarded as an all-around fun friend complained of having been hit in the arm when he'd just wanted to grab a book from the library. And then everyone had perked up, because out of all of them, only Chuuta-kun could read.

Tsuna pressed a hand to Hibari-san's head, patting the feathery strands of hair that always fell into the elder boy's eyes. He really _did_ look like a girl. His, what was it called, eyelashes (yeah, that was it!) created a thick curtain against his cheeks, and his lips had relaxed in sleep into something that could be considered a smile beside his usual frowny expression. His skin was the palest that Tsuna had ever seen; he probably didn't go out much.

Hibari-san… did not look like an evil person.

Now, Tsuna knew what evil people were like. Hibari-san had drilled it into his head the signs of an evil person, and he kept an eye out whenever anyone new walked past him. Bad behavior, deceptive behavior, Hibari-san had explained, was when they lied and used those lies for their own benefit, to mess with people, and just for fun.

_"There are five types of lies—white, red, gray, black, and… another color," Hibari-san murmured at their fourth meeting. They sat alone in a booth at the local café, chatting with each other. Because Tsuna had never been to a café before—Mama always made the yummiest snacks, so why bother—he squirmed in his seat, trying to get comfortable. The cool air was a blessing against his sweaty skin, and he took a long slurp of his chocolate milkshake. _

"_The first of the lies, the least consequential, would be white lies. They're the lies that help the person being lied to."_

"_Eh? How does lying help someone?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. "Don't all lies hurt people? I-I mean, that's what Azusa-sensei says." He stammered as Hibari-san leveled him with a steady stare._

"_I can see what you mean by that." The words passed by in a lofty tone. "Well, I guess I'll just give you an example. Say that there are two people: Person A and Person B." Hibari-san waited for Tsuna to nod, so Tsuna hastily tilted his head in understanding. "Say Person A has just found out that it's Person B's birthday. Person B is the type of person who doesn't remember important days."_

_The brunet heard a strange noise at the back of his throat. "How can anyone forget their birthday?"_

"_It's hypothetical, Tsu-kun."_

_Hypo-what? The look on his face must have been a blaring sign, because Hibari-san chuckled slightly and flicked his forehead. _

"_Hypothetical means 'if', Tsu-kun. In this case, this situation is hypothetical—it can happen, but hasn't already. Or maybe it has. We don't know for sure."_

"_Uhhh…"_

_Laughter trickled by. "Let's move on, shall we? Person A wants to celebrate Person B's birthday, so he plans to have all of their friends come together that day."_

"_Like a surprise party!" Tsuna crowed._

"_Yes, a surprise party. But Person B begins to notice Person A acting unnatural, so he asks him if he's planning anything."_

"_Oh no!"_

"_Person A lies."_

_Here Hibari-san paused, gauging for Tsuna's reaction. His eyes dug deep into Tsuna's own, two molten pools of moonshine-like silver. Tsuna chewed on his lips for a second, a bit uncomfortable, before nodding. "Okay."_

"_So there's the end: Person B is pleasantly surprised when he walks into a room and Person A shoves cake into his hands, letting loose balloons so that they fly around the room. Everyone cheers. 'Happy End,' right?" Hibari-san mentioned in English with a wry smile on his lips. Tsuna happily nodded in response and drank up the last of his milkshake._

"_Yup!" _

"_But that also brings me to lie number two: the red lie. Do you think you can guess what it's about?"_

"_Ehhh… Um, there's a white lie that's good, and a black lie that's bad. Gray should be in the middle, right? So… Red has nothin' to do with black and white? It does nothing?"_

_Something akin to pride bubbled up in his chest when he got a close-up view of Hibari-san's surprised face. See? Even Dame-Tsuna could do this!_

"_That's correct," the dark-haired boy said a second later, taking a bite out of his mochi. "Red lies help neither Person A nor Person B—it's something that's there for no reason at all._

"_It's like this: Person B is investigating a murder and Person A is on his list of suspects. He asks where Person A was at the time of the crime, and Person A lies."_

"_Why does he lie if it doesn't help?" Tsuna wrinkled his nose. "That's weird."_

_Humming and chewing another mochi into paste, Hibari-san continued, "Well, he was with his girlfriend at the time of the murder, but no one was supposed to know because, eh, well, she was… A princess?"_

_Tsuna's eyes brightened. "A princess? He was with a princess? So he's a prince?"_

"…_Sure. So Person A says to Person B, 'I was at home at that time, watching TV,' which is obviously a lie. But person B moves on. Eventually the murderer is found, and no one really cares if person A lied anymore because it doesn't matter. It didn't help the case, and it didn't really help Person A—remember, he still has to keep his relationship secret and all, so lying makes him feel bad."_

"_Oooh. And the red is because it does help the princess! It's completely unre, um, un-re-la-ted to A and B though. Right?"_

"_Ah, yes. You could become a detective, Tsu-kun." The mature (__**but how mature is he really,**__ a voice in Tsuna's mind whispered before banishing again) boy swirled his cup of earl gray tea with minimal wrist movements. "You're very smart."_

_Oh. Really? Tsuna felt a blush grow on his cheeks, and he ducked his head so that Hibari-san wouldn't see because—wait, why? Because he was embarrassed? Hibari-san would know either way, and it wasn't like he had to side, so, uh… The brunet shook his head and smiled brightly at the other boy. "Thanks!" _

"_So white lies benefit both parties. Red lies benefit an outside party or none at all. Gray lies… Well, they benefit the liar."_

"_Eh? That's bad, isn't it?" Tsuna couldn't quite believe his ears. This whole lying conversation was just going to get worse, wasn't it? "No one should lie for himself!"_

_Hibari-san shrugged languidly, leaning back. Tsuna eyed the way he could smoothly and gracefully move about. He felt kinda jealous. But Hibari-san was older; Tsuna would eventually be able to move like that, right? "Well, I would tell gray lies."_

…_Huh? "But Hibari-san isn't a bad person," Tsuna immediately denied. "You won't lie for yourself."_

_Hibari-san just watched him silently and sighed. "I'm not… I'm not a wonderful person, Tsuna. I do lie, and sometimes they're not white lies. But," he added before Tsuna could cut in indignantly, "Not all other lies are bad. Gray lies aren't for lying for yourself."_

_That… makes sense, Tsuna thought. "Yeah?"_

"_Say you have someone to protect—Person A has a baby kitten. Person C comes in and asks Person A if he has an animal because if he does then Person A won't be able to live where he lives."_

_Another hy-po-the-ti-cal situation. Tsuna thought carefully about what his friend detailed and gestured for him to move on._

"_Person A lies to protect his kitten, but if Person C finds out, he'll get in a lot of trouble. Lying will make Person A happy, though, because now he has protected his pet."_

_They fell into another silence, and Hibari-san shifted his arm so that it rested on the table. A glance at the clock told Tsuna that the time was… um, six-twenty-five? No, it was five-thirty. Oh, wow, they had to get home soon. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. Hibari-san seemed to be thinking awfully hard about something._

"_Gray lies protect other people. They don't make anyone happy, not really, but they protect. I think that's what matters."_

_**He's lost something, we can tell. Those eyes reflect a lot of hurt.**__ Tsuna shook his head to clear his thoughts of the other voice._

"_Gray lies are good, then?" He questioned just to say something and disperse the tense air around the booth._

"…_Yeah they're good. Ah… I don't suppose I have to explain black lies, do I? They're purely for the liar's benefit."_

"_Then, other lies?" Tsuna prompted. "What about them?"_

_Hibari-san's reply came unexpectedly swiftly. "Easily, they're the most dangerous. They can't be described by a color. They're transparent. Ah, transparent means clear," he tacked on when Tsuna blinked owlishly. "And they're considered transparent because they hold some truth and leave some truth. They're lies by omiss—err, leaving things out."_

"_How do lies have truth? That makes no sense!" He complained, hesitating before reaching out and grabbing one of Hibari-san's mochi. "Lies are lies. Truth is truth!"_

"_Hmmm…" Snatching on of Tsuna's choux creams, Hibari-san thoughtfully eyed the brunet. He took an experimental bite. From the look on his face, apparently he didn't have a sweet tooth like Tsuna did. "Well, I'll tell you another something instead, just between the two of us."_

"_Huh?"_

"_There's a test tomorrow. Students have to study their multiplication tables and be able to memorize and recite it to their teachers by the end of the day."_

_Eh? Huh? What? "_Hiie!_ Really?"_

"_Yeah. A lot of students have to do it."_

_Wahh, Tsuna didn't even know how to add and subtract, let alone multiply! Chuuta-kun did, though, so maybe he could ask him? But no, that wouldn't work, because Chuuta-kun really didn't want to be friends with Dame-Tsuna, so who could help him? No one? Hibari-san? But Hibari-san wasn't in the same class as him!_

_**Wait. He's lying.**_

"_You're lying."_

"_I'm not lying though, not really," Hibari-san shrugged, raising a brow. "There _is_ a test tomorrow. But… What I didn't say was that it's for the third-graders, not us."_

"_You—You!" Tsuna didn't know what to say. "That wasn't nice!"_

_Hibari-san stood up and clasped Tsuna's shoulder before he could do anything. "You see it now, right, Tsu-kun? Clear lies aren't usually supposed to be nice. They're meant to baffle, confuse, and bewilder. That's why they're the most dangerous. That's why people are so easily tricked. _

"_That's why if you can catch someone not telling you everything, that's the first step in determining who the bad people are."_

Shaking his head, the preschooler pulled himself from his memories. It was weird, the way Hibari-san thought. Bad people and good people—why would Tsuna need to know this? He sighed and threw another glance at the sleeping elder, his friend who _believed_ in Dame-Tsuna, who never _doubted_ Tsuna whose full name he didn't really even _know_, and went back to picking up his blocks while his friend slept on none the wiser.

But Tsuna had knowledge now. He could tell whenever someone was lying—impossibly easily, in fact—and now… He had an idea of who to test this on.

At dinner a couple of hours later, Tsuna silently ate his hamburg steak. Hibari-san hadn't joined them (which was a pity, since he'd confided to Tsuna that the meal was his favorite) since he had gone home the hour before. The brunet took a final bite before glancing up. He'd lost his appetite.

"Nee, Otou-san?"

"Hmm? Oh, Tsuna-fish! Do you need something? Oh, I bet it's the soy sauce, right? Let me get you some—!"

"N-No, Otou-san. Um… You're leaving next week, right? Where are you going? When will you be back?"

(He held his breath.)

"Oh, Tsuna-fish, you're missing me already? Don't worry, I won't be for too long. And I'm a busy man—I'll send as many postcards as I can, alright? I'll be going to many places. I'll call whenever I can."

(…Oh.)

"…Okay."

.

.

.

**A/N: OKAY, OKAY, ENOUGH WITH THE OKAYS, WOMAN. Seriously. I wanted to bash my head in with all of the words I had to repeat, but there is a point in the okays We'll get to that later. And yeah, a point in that ridiculously long flashback too. **

**How was Tsuna's POV, guys? Okay? Bad? Stupid? I should get back to first person? Also, I'm not trying to bash on Iemitsu. I happen to like the guy, since he's so badass and all, but ya do have to admit—he's a trashy father. Kyouya may or may not end up liking him—if he ever comes back often enough.**

**Hey guyyys, guyyyyyyyssss. I finished Chapter 4 yesterday and I wanted to start this chapter today because of all of the favorites I keep on getting, but I really finished it! That's good for you guys, but for me?**

**Too—much—anatomy—homework—guh! This is my procrastination—working on other stuff. Haha, this chapter is also five thousand words… I guess that's going to be my average word count?**

**I ramble too much. Yeesh.**

**(Also, I appreciate constructive criticism. I know I'm not the best author, so I need some help. Flaws? Typos? I don't a have a beta, so if anyone wants to help me and point out flaws in my research… Most of my knowledge comes from reading -reliable- manga and real life stories as well as my own life, so I can always learn more!)**

**( ´ **** ` )****ﾉ****? Please help? Anyone?**

**(Also, I don't wanna go "PLEASE REVIEW BROS I NEED IT TO LIVE," but reviews do help. Just pointing it out, because everyone knows that hits aren't as satisfying as seeing opinions.)**


	6. Chapter 6

Do As You Like Chapter Six

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own KHR! (Though the Cloud Ring does look nice on my finger.) Also, did I forget to put a disclaimer in the last chapter? O-o**

**{KHR18KHR}**

I didn't realize that the universe really liked to screw with me until my seventh birthday. The thought came to me like an epiphany—only instead of one great dump of knowledge or breaking dam, it happened in a series of revelations.

Only less like a series of revelations and more of a train wreck that always followed me around.

"Hibari! Fight me!"

Don't look him in the eyes. Don't even acknowledge that he's there. I kept my gait even, didn't let my stride lengthen. Be cool. Hibari Kyouya didn't care about weaklings.

(But when had it gone from _I don't care about nuisances_ to _Kyouya doesn't care about weaklings?_ When was this? When had I changed? Could I even pinpoint it?)

"Oi! Stop being so childish and man up!"

Why did it have to be me? Why not Tsuna, or… well, someone else? My eyes betrayed me and strayed to the left. Our gazes met—just for a moment, _oh kami, please don't tell me he noticed_—and the insufferable boy tensed again.

"Hey! You know I'm here, so get on with it!"

"Annoying," I finally grumbled, rubbing my temples. Personally I didn't have anything against Sasagawa Ryohei; heck, I used to respect him for living the way he did. He protected his family no matter what, protected at the cost of his health, and didn't take crap from anyone when it came to the things he loved.

But that was before his six-year-old self started following me around.

Sometimes I could barely wrap my head around how it had started in the first place.

A normal day goes like this: wake up in the morning to see Kisuke off, go back to sleep, take a walk with Tsubame, eat breakfast, see her off, get to school, suffer through the first few hours until lunch, patrol (I really had no other word for making circuits around the school and hitting Neanderthals), sleep in the reception room, chat with Tsuna, and head home. Sometimes I'd stop by the police station to boss around my father's underlings. Sometimes I'd talk flowers with my mother. Sometimes I'd wander to Tsuna's place. Finally, least often, I had tea with Fon and generally snarked at him until my parents came home.

It was clear cut. It was simple.

And the explosion of extremity and youth happened.

(What would Nika have called this? The unholy spawn of Maito Gai and the Big Bang?)

A normal day. I had patrolled, gone out to beat up some bullies; I tripped a convicted thief (wallets, toys, jewelry, you name it) and kicked her while she was down. Got yelled at by some boy because said stealer was his sister's friend. He pissed me off so I clonked him in the head and left him on the floor.

…Unfortunately, that really was what my typical day went like. What I hadn't understood at the time was that, no, the kid I'd just pummeled _wasn't_ scared of me.

It was downright _bizarre_.

"Fight me like a man, Hibari! I will avenge Kimiko-chan's honor!"

_What_ honor? She was _five_. My disgust practically oozed out of my pores as I threw him a halfhearted glare. "Go back to your sister, Sasagawa. You've been neglecting her and wasting my time." And please, just get away from me.

I wasn't counting, but this was the… third (fourth?) time today that he'd hounded me down. The incident had occurred two weeks ago, so by now I was simply exhausted. At first it had been funny. Now? Not so much. While I contemplated the merits of sending the kid to the hospital just to be rid of him (so tempting, really, but he was innocent of everything but being a nuisance) Sasagawa roared and clenched his fists heatedly by his shoulders.

"After you fight me! And I haven't been ne-glec-ting her! …Wait, what does ne-glec-ting mean!" Another strange thing about the boy—he didn't ask questions or adhere to punctuation at all. All of his statements inevitably ended in exclamation marks.

A headache, that one.

"It means to ignore or pay no attention to," I drawled, smoothing out my blue uniform and looking around my desk for my lunchbox. Kisuke always made me one every morning (because my mother, as stated before, never woke up until the very last minute), and I was hungry. Growing boys needed growing food; I was no exception, and I scowled as it soon became apparent that I had misplaced the uniquely colorful box somewhere.

But where?

"Then stop ne-glec-ting me!" Sasagawa exclaimed, making my eye twitch and my lungs stutter in amusement for a brief moment. "Come out and fight!"

Finally, I poked my head out of the window—second-graders learned on the second floor, go figure—and threw my neighbor's pencil at his head. "_Shut up._ It is too early in the morning for this." Even though technically it wasn't morning. The lunch bell rang, signaling the beginning of the lunch period, and I was _not_ going to spend it with this rambunctious herbivore.

(Huh? Since when did I view other humans as animals? When had _this_ happened?)

"It is never too early for an EXTREME fight!"

"It is today," I said, deadpan. "Go away. You're pissing me off." For some reason, ever since my birthday, my life seemed to have a lot of things not go my way. For instance, Fon didn't show up to view the cherry blossoms even though he always had for all of my birthdays so far (and I admit, while I didn't feel betrayed, I was unhappy even though the overly serene baby always grated on my nerves), some hooligans had actually started to provoke the police so now I barely saw Kisuke in the evenings anymore, Tsubame _(nonono, don't think about her)_—who had the constitution of a thousand men—was actually _ill_ enough for once to warrant a hospital stay, and Tsuna had stopped coming by the reception room for one reason or another. All of which made no sense to me.

And no, I was not selfish! …Fine, maybe a little bit. But that was only a month ago! How could so much misfortune take place in just one month?

(But then again, dying had happened in one _day-hour-minute-second_.)

"Oi, Hibari! …Are you alright?" Ignoring his sudden use of a question mark (which should have signaled the dawn of the apocalypse), I wiped the morose look off of my face. My stomach growled like a feral animal; angry, ravenous, and demanding. The different scents of other bento boxes that wafted through the air did not make me feel better. If anything, I wanted to hit something even more than I needed to. I wanted to _maim_.

It wasn't a good feeling. Then again, having a mental condition that cause a metaphysical pain usually made people's moods go down to hell.

"Come back another day, and I'll fight you then," I found myself replying with a dark expression. Don't look at him. Don't look at him. "I promise we'll fight, so go away for today. Bother someone else."

Why, exactly, he wanted to fight me I didn't understand. I didn't have any weapons; I didn't know how to fight other than utilizing a messy hodgepodge of fighting styles I copied from Fon, or little things I still remembered from my past life. It wasn't much. Sometimes I picked fights with the middle schoolers, sometimes with the high schoolers—only the fact that my build mirrored my mother's allowed me to leave relatively unscathed compared to the delinquents I left behind. Against Sasagawa, who was both fast and packed quite the punch? It displeased me to say, but I had no idea who would win.

Besides, I was seven, violent, and had a pretty bad reputation. I wasn't going to add 'being a monster' to that list for beating up a… 'pure-hearted' kid (oh, how my stomach revolted at the thought). Sasagawa could be considered cute by a lot of people. To me he was like a fly, but I could see where they came from. Kids could be endearing like that (like fungi).

I didn't really want to fight him. I didn't want to fight him where I could never _holdbackstoporyou'llkillhim_, but did he leave me a choice? My irritation, as always, would only ever get worse.

Kami-sama. I 'd never had this type of problem in my past life. I'd never had _any_ of these problems in my past life.

Sasagawa seemed to take my remark about his bothering in stride, thoughtfully focusing on my eyes before nodding, satisfied. "I will extremely hold you to that, Hibari!"

Aaaand the exclamation points were back. But at least he had left. I spent the remainder of my lunch period (and recess) searching in vain for my bento, grimacing as my hunger spiked in my abdomen. Something had happened to it, and I wasn't sure, but I'd figure it out.

(And if anyone notices the bags under my eyes or the slight slouch to my ever straight back, well, they didn't comment on it.)

**{KHR18KHR}**

"Tsu-kun? What are you doing here? I haven't seen you in weeks," I added reproachfully after a small lapse. "Well, come in." He silently stepped inside and I slid the shoji doors behind me.

Tsuna looked terrible. His eyes, previously so bright, so happy, dulled with lackluster. His shoulders slackened. The messy spikes atop his head flopped all about his empty eyes. "Hibari-san," he murmured eventually, "your Tou-san is a cop, right?"

Raising a brow, I pulled him further into the house and into the kitchen. "Yes," I said as my hands deftly fixed a pot of gentle hawthorne tea. "Do you need his help with something?"

"…Um." The boy stalled, I noticed, keeping his gaze down and on his hands. He bit his lip in that annoying habit of his—it always made my hackles rise because it meant something was wrongwrongwrong—and shrugged. "What would he do," began Tsuna slowly, "if a mafioso came to town?"

Instantly I tensed. A mafioso? In Namimori? Kisuke was protective—terrifyingly and reassuringly so—and he never, ever let criminals roam when they could be behind bars and away from the citizens of the town. He organized and controlled _every officer in the district;_ he'd never stop until he found every single crook and threw him or her away. So how could—why would—_when had_ a mafioso gotten into Namimori? And how did Tsuna even _know_ this mafio—

Oh.

"Otou-san would chuck the guy in a prison cell before anyone could blink. But the sentence? The punishment? I think that depends on the person." Tsuna flinched at my blunt tone, relaxing slightly once I finished. My eyes observed him like a hawk.

He fidgeted. "Depends? O-On what?"

"How many people he's killed." Tsuna froze. "What he specializes in. Who he works for. I know of a good few mafia groups that border on the line of vigilantism, and quite a bit more that are the worst scum that could ever be found on the bottom of someone's shoe."

Vongola, for the first. The Castigo group for the second. Kisuke liked to talk about his work when he got drunk, and we'd had quite the long conversation together with Fon MIA, Tsubame in the hospital, and no one to bother us beneath the starry night and the cherry trees.

_I was too big to be really carried anymore, had gotten too pointy and too heavy, but Kisuke always found ways to seat me in his lap and hug me. The instances had gotten more frequent since Tsubame's hospitalization three days ago (and hadn't that been a nasty surprise to see the young woman double over, hacking up globules of phlegm and blood and kami-sama she's unconscious, Tou-san, Tou-san!) and even now I couldn't escape his hold. Then again, I didn't want to escape, not really._

_(Even though his hugs are more like squeezes, even though I can feel my bones protesting, because my father needs this just as much as I do, to pretend that things are normal.)_

_Kisuke poured a shallow bowl of sake, swirling the pungent liquid around before tilting it back and gulping in a manner that sent tiny streams careening over his neck. "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?"_

"…_I can't see it."_

_The dark-haired man laughed and leaned forward, hands on my smooth and supple face. "You just have to know what you're looking for, Skylark. There it is, see?" He pointed to a patch of the night a bit darker than the rest, a bit more unsettled. "New moons are tricky. But that's half the charm; knowing where to look is the key to success."_

_Somehow I got the feeling that there was a double meaning behind his words. "How did you learn?" I asked instead of demanding answers from him. Kisuke would always be a pillar, always be strong for his country, region, town, family, but right now he was brittle. Like he could fall apart if prodded at the wrong moment._

"_From your mother, of course! Tsubame may not look it, since she's like the sun with all of her smiles and flowers and warmth—" His voice hitched, and I blissfully didn't comment. "She likes the stars. It's a bit funny when you consider the fact that she's brighter than every single one of them."_

_His tone of voice disturbed me, and I leaned back against his chest, hearing for the calming drum of his heart It was slow, steady, but also too alike the banging of a war drum. "Okaa-san is just in the hospital," I susurrated, "not dead." _Yet_._

"_I know, I know," whispered my father, more for his own comfort than mine. "But there's a chance. A chance is all the spirits, need, you know." He shifted, and suddenly his mind drifted to a faraway place, beside me and yet not at the same time. "They're greedy, and they can take even the tiniest sliver and work it in their favor."_

_I had nothing to say to that._

"W-Who he works for?" Stuttered Tsuna as I pulled myself back to reality. It had been nearly a month; apparently it would take a year for her to recover from Non-Tuberculosis Myobacterium (NTM), and already I didn't like the absence she left behind.

"The mafia is… stratified, I should say." My head tilted, and I let my eyes slide shut. "Good guys and bad guys; some are gray guys." My eyes opened as his curious humming.

"Do you…" Tsuna frowned to himself, as if in the midst of an entirely different conversation with himself, before saying, "Do you know what the… V-Vongola group is, Hibari-san?"

My heart juddered to a stop. A beat passed. I breathed.

"Where did you hear about them from?" I asked lightly, forcing my tone to keep from growing heavy. This was odd; weird. Hadn't Sawada Tsunayoshi not known what the Vongola was until that baby showed up?

Shaking slightly, the brunet rubbed his head. "I—I—_it actually exists?_" For the first time since he arrived, Tsuna looked at me with wide brown eyes. Terrified eyes. "The Vongola Famiglia, it—it's real?"

He didn't know? "It is," I reported, frowning. "It's also the biggest and most powerful famiglia in existence right now. The apex of the food chain, I should say."

Having long since grown used to my vocabulary and developing wonderful context skills of his own, Tsuna nodded slowly. Then he shrieked. "_Hiie!_ The most powerful?!"

I shrugged. "Right before the, what did Otou-san say, Cavallone group, which still needs a few more thousand members to even skim the amount that Vongola has. It's approximately four hundred years old. I don't really know more, though; Otou-san mostly focuses on yakuza groups rather than the Italian Cosa Nostra."

"Eeh… C-Cosa Nostra, huh?" The boy tested, feeling the foreign words on his tongue. "What does that mean?"

I poured a cup of tea and handed it to the boy. "_Our Thing_." The English slipped from my lips like a long-forgotten memory, unnerving me with how odd it felt to speak. "It means our thing," I repeated in Japanese, taking a sip from my own cup. The bitter liquid washed over my tongue, and I identified a wincing look on Tsuna's face. But the antioxidants soothed him after a moment, and he relaxed, breaths even.

"Our Thing. They don't call it the mafia?" Though, to be concise, the question was more of a clarification than inquiry. Tsuna took another sip of the pink liquid, watching it swirl like diluted blood.

"Not really. The Cosa Nostra is a crime syndicate that targets local towns and territory; they hold iron fists on areas, and get rather tetchy when their space is invaded." Kind of like Kisuke. Namimori was _ours_, had been _ours_ since its founding, and the Hibari family protected it. Namimori was _our_ territory.

_(Mine.)_

Tsuna placed his cup down with a little _clink_, tracing the little birds taking flight on the rim with a little finger. "So, the V-Vongola, it does that, too?"

I didn't know. "Maybe. It's pretty big; I wouldn't put it past such a big organization to have a little bit of corruption at the edges. But I hear that the current boss is a pretty nice guy. Old. Grandfather-like."

Tsuna fell silent as something flashed in his eyes. The muscles stood out on his neck, and I hastily poured some more tea before pushing the cup at him. Gulp. Sigh. "I think, Hibari-san, that I should tell you why I'm here." Eye contact.

_Oh._ Since when had his eyes been so orange? So saturated? The brown ochre fled those irises, leaving in its place a smoldering, suffocating orange that grasped at my lungs. Fight him, my muscles urged. Fight him. Don't hold back, you can't hold back.

You'll lose, they told me.

Stomping down on the bloodlust (_pain_) rising in my veins, I threw back my cup. Nonsense—Tsuna was just _five years old_, he _couldn't_ be powerful. He was a herbivore. Weak. The kid couldn't even run in a straight line without tripping at least twice.

Something was very, _very wrong_, and a suspicion that it was _because of me_ prickled at the back of my throat.

Kami-sama. _(Stop praying, you idiot, Kami-sama's not going to listen to you.)_

"My Tou-san," the boy—child—lion—where had Tsu-kun gone?—declared, blinking and letting the sunset leach away, "He's in the Cosa Nostra."

This wasn't right. This wasn't right _at all_.

Drink the tea. Sip. "I kind of suspected," I admitted, not meeting his eyes because _he could tell I was lying_, shaking my head and picking up the teapot. No longer warm, the cold and empty porcelain nipped my fingers. "But how did you find out?"

The returning tone didn't sound anything like Tsuna. No, this was something else entirely, strong and terse and wholly blunt. "Construction workers don't travel to the North Pole for business."

(A droplet in the ocean will eventually cause a flood.)

The universe hates me, I decided at that moment.

**{KHR18KHR}**

"Kyo-kun," my mother greeted gently, pressing a hand against my left cheek with a strained smile on her face. Her skin, already pale, had become even more wan in the weeks of her incarceration, and as I gripped her fingers, I suppressed the urge to break them. "How are you, dear?"

"Okaa-san," I mirrored, voice cracking in the middle. "I'm good. Fine, actually. How—How are you?"

Which was a stupid question, because she couldn't even _sit up_, and old blood speckled her collar.

My father called someone to get a new shirt for her.

"Oh, _anata_," she said to Kisuke, letting her (cold, icy) hand drop. "You don't have to do that. This shirt is perfectly fine."

"It has blood on it," he protested. "It makes you look like you're dying."

A knowing look spread across her face. "Oh, I forgot how sensitive you are." She huffed a laugh. "I'm not going to die. Remember the promise?"

My ears perked up. What promise?

Kisuke made a dying noise. "Of course I remember the promise, _koi!_ But what can you do about that? This is completely out of your control!"

Rolling her eyes like she wasn't actually incapacitated and kept on permanent bed rest, my mother smirked. "I'm a Hibari, dear. Nothing is ever out of my control." Her gaze softened, and she beckoned him over. "We are Hibari. We do what we want; isn't that what you told me when you married me?"

The thing about us Hibari was that we were an old clan. We could trace our lineage back to the days of the Tokugawa shogun, back and back until our names appeared lost to time. What Tsubame had mentioned was one of our… creeds, of sorts. Our laws.

Hibari are free.

Hibari live as they please.

Hibari never fail.

Hibari protect.

Never mind the fact that the last line contradicted the first, and that the second basically meant the same as the prior, those were our rules. They were the laws to uphold, if not for our clan, then for our individual selves. We had to follow them; they embodied and summarized our very blood, detailed what our ancestors had done. Nobles. The only thing was, now the Hibari clan consisted of my father, my mother, and…

Me. It always terrified me whenever they lectured me about the family history. Their eyes always dug into mine, serious and weighty and lead-like. Now, as Tsubame spoke to my father about these creeds, a part of me felt left out because despite the fact that Tsubame had married into the clan, I wasn't really a part of it. Not yet.

They claimed that I had yet to understand the final clause. It bothered me—protect, _of course_ I knew what it meant to protect—but Kisuke usually ruffled my hair and Tsubame typically gave me a hug, and by the time I recalled what I was angry about, the ire had faded. I was young still, they said. I could afford a couple more years to understand what it meant.

"Come over here, Kyo-kun." I looked up to see my father grab my collar and jam me into the fold, shifted to hear my mother's bell-like laughter tainted with something that dried up her voice. "Mou, what's got you so depressed?"

Pursing my lips (not pouting), I shook my head. "It's nothing, Okaa-san. I… I just miss you."

"Oh, you're my son all right," Kisuke said smirking and squishing me between him and my mother. Their heartbeats pressed against me on both sides, beating in synchronization. More laughter filled the room, and I relaxed because all of a sudden everything felt right. Everything would be fine. She'd only be in the hospital to recover. One year was okay. One year—I could visit her everyday, and see her getting better, right? NTM was just an infection. She'd heal eventually.

When my father and I left the building, I couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't let us visit until now. Why, after months passed and passed, I barely got to see her. Kisuke never visited her without me, and we always had to call before drooping by. The calls we got from her seemed to slip through our fingers like time sand; she repeated the same things as before, about how she was recovering, how much she missed us, and flimsy little lies about how she didn't want to get in the way of my father's work or my school. But since her voice seemed stronger with each and every call, her skin more flushed with each and every visit, we let it go and persisted with our lives.

Six months after my birthday, I got into the hang of things. This sudden shift with all of these changes didn't feel so different anymore. Tsuna stopped by my house every now and then to timidly ask about his schoolwork or the mafia (these occasions happened interchangeably, and I'd long since ruled out coincidence in this world). Kisuke rarely came home, and I eventually learned to cook simple things for myself, like _onigiri_ for lunch and mackerel for dinner. The weight of cooking, cleaning, and shopping fell upon my shoulders with my mother gone (no, not gone, just elsewhere) and my father chained to his job. But this was all okay, I decided. Besides, he told me that he'd finally caught a break—one of his men had located the main base of those hooligans, now-turned yakuza.

It was one of those peaceful days, and we'd just got off of the phone with my mother. Kisuke hadn't stayed for long—just got home during one of his short breaks to catch dinner with me—but we'd made the most of that time.

"You're getting much better at cooking, you know, Skylark?" Kisuke spoke after swallowing, a thoughtful look on his mien. "This tastes really good."

"Thanks. I have to feed myself somehow, right?" I joked, though I couldn't quite get my tone to lighten enough for it to sound anything less than a resigned accusation. "How's your case?"

Humming and decanting a bowl of miso soup into his mouth, my father smiled. "Well," he began, "Tanaka—you know her, the one with the short brown hair—got a lead on the main base. We have a stakeout planned, and we're hoping to apprehend them soon."

My hands stayed still—forcibly still—as I gripped a clump of rice between my chopsticks—

(funny how I couldn't even hold them properly in my past life)

—and turned to my father. "That's great!" I exclaimed, letting my relief seep into my voice. "How soon is soon? Tomorrow? Next month?"

"Next week, I think," Kisuke answered. He chewed on a bite of fish. "After that, I'll finally be able to come home regularly, yeah?"

Yeah. That'd be nice. "I'm glad." My voice wobbled slightly, like something was caught in between my heartstrings and vocal chords. "I'm really glad," I repeated.

"We'll surprise Kaa-chan with a visit when I'm finally debriefed."

"Yeah. That's perfect."

(Funny how we were talking about this like everything would go perfectly fine.)

(Remember, the universe hates me.)

.

.

.

**A/N: That's a shorter chapter than before, but I really didn't want to keep going since this was a pretty good ending spot. **

**Hey all, if anyone knows someone or has experience Non-Tuberculosis Myobacteria before, I hope I haven't offended anyone with my crappy writing skills. I'm woefully uninformed even though I'm trying to read up on it as much as I can, so if anyone can give me some pointers that'd be much appreciated.**

**So Kyouya's getting a bad feeling. I hope things go well, yeah?**

**(What am I talking about, I'm the writer www. Of course I know what's going to happen.)**

**This chapter is a bit more…emotional than the rest, I suppose. There are a lot more parenthesis and non sequiturs. Do you guys like this sort of style? This is Kyouya betting a bit unbalanced (emotionally) due to having to put up with Ryohei (I'll eventually clear up on what happened with the fight), Tsuna (ya'll didn't think I wouldn't change anything, would ya?), Fon (mysterious absences are mysterious), Tsubame (deadly illnesses are never just deadly illness—they're a hole in the heart), and Kisuke (as if not getting to see his mother is enough).**

**Well. If you guys liked this chapter, please leave a PM or drop off a review! They're light and fluffy and taste like candy floss. :D**

**QUESTION: If Kyouya could be in a relationship, who do you guys think would suit him best? Any gender is fine.**


	7. Chapter 7

Do As You Like Chapter Seven

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own KHR, otherwise I wouldn't be flat broke right now.**

**WARNING: GORE IN THIS CHAPTER.**

**{KHR18KR}**

"So everything's alright over there? Ahaha, yeah, it's fine with us too. Yeah, I'll tell Kyouya you said hi. Love you too."

_Click_.

"Otou-san? Was that Okaa-san?" I gently slid the panel close behind me, setting my backpack on the ground. Toeing off my shoes, I proceeded into the kitchen for something to drink. Water would be nice, especially in such hot and muggy weather. As much as I liked tea, iced tea was an entirely different boat; hot tea would be suicidal.

Kisuke smiled brightly and put down the cable phone even as he straightened the tie around his neck. He wore his uniform casually, adjusting the belt around his waist and the strap roping over his chest. Shiny boots; he'd just gotten a new pair. "Oh, welcome home, Skylark. Yeah, that was Okaa-san on the phone just now."

I returned with a tiny quirk of my own lips. "She's okay? No sudden relapses or anything?"

"Nah, it's all good."

Stillness descended upon us.

"So…" My father began somewhat nervously, "today's the day." He cleared his throat. "I've gotta go in a few hours. Wanna get something to eat?"

"Depends," I mumbled, scratching my head and trying to smother the dread in my stomach. "Is it Japanese?"

"Hmm," he said, cocking his head, "I dunno." Although he and my mother preferred the traditional lifestyle with traditional clothing and a huge traditional house, he didn't crave the food all that often. He liked modern, Western-inspired dishes with astonishing aplomb. While my mother also preferred Western dishes, she wasn't exceptionally picky. "We had some miso and fish just the other day, right?"

"But we had hamburg and carbonara the day after that and yesterday," I pointed out. "I'm getting sick of Western food."

"Ehhhhhh…" Kisuke poked his tongue out of his mouth in a childish unconscious habit, crossing his arms. "Alright, alright, how about… ah, Sushi!"

"Sushi?" My brow raised; I grabbed a cup of water. "Would that even feel right without Okaa-san there?"

Tsubame, after all, was the one who loved sushi the most. Without fail, she dragged the three of us to the _sushiya_ a couple of streets over to get some at least once a month.

"Why not? We can get some to-go for her, after all. Haha, she'll probably stab me with a syringe if we don't get any for her!"

Eyeing him thoughtfully, I took a long drink. Cold water slipped from my mouth and splashed on my shirt, but I ignored it. "So it's settled? Sushi for dinner?"

"To the _sushiya_ we go!" He crowed, and not for the first time, I wondered how exactly he had become the Chief of Police. Kami, the man could be so energetic sometimes.

He jammed a palm over my head and ruffled my hair with a lopsided smile on his face, pulling me out of the house. Hastily, still in my school uniform, I ran back in and threw on my still-warm shoes, sprinting after him. He laughed and waved from a far distance away when I finally remembered that I still held the glass of water in my hand.

**{KHR18KHR}**

"Be careful at home, okay, Kyouya?"

I looked away from the ants crawling on the side of the road to squint upward at him. He squeezed my hand in his and didn't look away from the sun setting in the horizon. He had to leave soon. I didn't want him to go, and for once I wasn't annoyed (scared) enough to admit this to him.

"I should say the same thing. You be careful too, Otou-san. Don't play the hero and die."

Ha had the audacity to laugh. "Die? That's a bit morbid, Skylark," he replied with a chuckle, not faltering with his steps. Skylark. Not Kyouya. I smiled at him and let my fingers slip from his grasp to run forward a couple of paces and begin walking backward. He sighed. "You know I can't exactly follow your directions if my men get in danger."

"Then don't get hurt when you get them out of danger," I intoned forcefully, meeting his eyes and watching how my shadow faded away to be replaced with the new darkness of night. "You can get hurt, so long as you don't die."

"Haha, that's harsh! I thought you didn't want me to get hurt at all!"

I rolled my eyes. "Injury is fine. Mortal wounds are not. If you must, you may protect them with your body only to the extent where your life will not be in danger." It would have amused me, years ago, to hear these words pour from my mouth. Like I was a deity. Like I was important. Now, I was deadly serious.

Kisuke gave me an odd, patronizing look. "Ah, that's right," he suddenly said out of nowhere, "You still don't understand the last line in our creed, do you?"

Narrowing my eyes, I stopped walking backward and turned around so that I couldn't see his face. "What does that have to do with anything?" I snapped at him.

He laughed again, this time more genuinely. Lighter than before. "Everything, Skylark! It will always be relevant!"

I huffed. "I don't get you."

"You will someday," murmured Kisuke. "And when you do, you're going to come whining to me about how stupid you are, and how it's all my fault because my genes tainted you or something."

A startled and hollow laugh slipped out of my grasp. "Your words, not mine. And I'm pretty sure that will only happen in your dreams." If you die because of your men, I wanted to say, you'll be an even bigger idiot than me. Don't forget about Okaa-san. She's waiting for you, damn it.

Our house came into view, and I spent a moment tracing the kanji on our nameplate. Hibari. Cloud and sparrow.

The free Skylark.

The three of us, we Hibari, had a lot of pride. It was a no-brainer; one could even say that we had iron wills, unyielding presences. At this point in time I had no trouble thinking that Tsubame would live. She would. She had _said so, _and so she would_ do so._

Kisuke, on the other hand, I wasn't so sure about. He was an idiot. A bleeding heart. Soft. Accepting. Sacrificial. Stupid to an almost unbelievable degree.

Weak, but not at the same time. I had no idea what to think about him, because this was my father and he was almost a herbivore. Almost, though, because he was _my father_, the head of the _Hibari clan_, and the _Chief of Police_. If that didn't mean anything, I'd swear off tea forever, call myself a herbivore, and dance in a circle with Sasagawa, Fon and Iemitsu.

(Never, never, and _NEVER_ TO THE FUCKING POWER OF _INFINITY_.)

Kisuke's phone beeped softly and yet still caused the both of us to jolt out of our thoughts. My father squinted at the brightly glowing screen, frowning, before closing it and tucking it back into his pocket. "I'll be fine," he assured me before I could tell him to watch out for himself for the umpteenth time. A bit peeved at how he had cut me off, I slapped the hand that reached out to pat my head.

"Shut up," I wrestled from my throat. "You—just—don't forget! I'm never going to forgive you if you forget! Protect yourself!"

And then I, being the _ultra-manly_ and _untouchable_ Hibari Kyouya that was _me_, slammed into him with all the force my seven-year-old body could offer, and hugged him senseless. No, I just tried to squish the life out of him. Yeah, that was right. But all the while I kept telling myself that my arms _weren't_ trembling, and that I _wasn't_ crying (fuck, when was the last time I had cried, if _ever_), and that I was just being an idiot. Nothing wrong would happen on his raid. It would go smoothly.

It _would_.

"Will do," he confirmed with another of his broad and dumb smiles that I hadn't realize had become so important and precious to me. I wanted to take a camera and take a picture of his face, but then I noticed how I was still hanging off of him like a wimp, so I let go and hastily wiped at my eyes. A strong and determined tone seeped into his voice. "I won't ever let you get hurt."

"That's not what I meant, you idiot!"

And we both laughed with tears in our eyes.

**{KHR18KHR}**

I couldn't sleep that night. As I constantly rolled over and over in my futon, trying to get comfortable, my legs entangled with my blanket in a way that pissed me off even more than the way I acted—like a freaking kid. No, a freaking girly girl! I was twenty-five, so when was I going to act my fucking age?

Get up. Lie down. Get up. Throw the blanket off. Walk into the kitchen. My eyes bored into the family picture on the walls (huh, when had we gotten so many?) and I sat at the table, limply letting my upper half flop onto the smooth and cold wood. That one was from a year ago. Kisuke grinned into the camera while Tsubame and I splashed about in the water some feet away. The other one was from three years ago, during the winter. Tsuna was there, as was Nana, and the four of us (Kisuke had taken the picture) laughed because of something that Tsuna had said. I didn't remember what it was. Another in the corner, half hidden by the others, was by far my favorite. It was a candid shot of the three of us walking to the marketplace, taken by a photographer who had apparently thought that we would make nice subjects. In it all three of us smiled, and the sun sparkled in a way that seemed to radiate the happiness we felt that day, just us walking together.

With no one but me home, the house rattled with an eerie sort of quiet that kept me on edge. The _shishi-odoshi_ in the pond outside _doinked_ at constant intervals, amplifying the silence. I took a gander at the clock on the wall.

Oh. Two in the morning. How long could a raid last?

When I finally eased out of the chair and made my way back over to my room several hallways away, I had finally calmed to an acceptable level. I could sleep at last. But then the phone in the kitchen rang loudly. My heart shuddered at the sudden noise that pierced the night, and I sprinted back to the kitchen.

_Ring-ring-ring! Ring-ring-ring!_ I nearly tripped in my haste to reach it before the thing could go to voicemail. _Ring-ring—_ "Hello?" I called into the device breathlessly.

I caught shallow breathing on the other side of the line. _"H-Hello? Is this the H-Hibari residence?"_

"Yeah," I answered dumbly before shaking my head. "Who are you?"

"_I-I'm Shimura A-Aiko! I'm the nurse for Hibari Tsubame, and—"_

Moving with an all-body jerk, I dropped the phone like it had burned me. No. No. _Nonononono_, this couldn't be _possible_. Wait. Calm down. I bent down to retrieve the phone, fingers shaking, neck peppering with goosebumps despite the heat of the house. "Sorry about that," I said, not sorry at all, "the phone just slipped out of my hand. What happened to her? Is she alright?"

"H-Hibari-san just went into a violent coughing fit, and right now she's in intensive care, but we don't know if she'll live—"

Damn it! I growled in frustration and panic. "My father isn't here right now. I'll be right there. Make sure she doesn't die!" I snarled into the receiver.

A muffled squeak came out of the other end. "Y-Yes!"

Not bothering to replace the phone that now hung by its cord on the ground, I dashed to entrance and laced up my shoes. Screw the fact that I was wearing my pajamas. Screw the fact that I looked like shit. That was my mother. That was my _mother_ there!

The shoji door slammed open and fell over due to my excessive force. The hot and muggy air stuck to my skin like glue, and I sprinted out of the house on the fastest path to Namimori Hospital. Tsubame had relapsed. She was in intensive care. Kisuke wasn't here, and I couldn't call him because he was on a raid.

Damn it! Breathe!

"Well, that was easier than I thought it would be."

I stopped. Huh? A shadow loomed over my shoulder.

What?

Something slammed into my head.

What's going on?

I fell to the ground with a thump that echoed in my ears.

**{KHR18KHR}**

I opened my eyes to dim lighting and a headache that bordered on the feeling of something digging into the side of my head.

Oh, wait, something really _was_ digging into my head. "Looks like Sleeping Beauty here is awake," snorted an amused and gravely voice. It instantly put me on edge, and I tensed. "Oh, scared, is he?"

I didn't answer. The smooth glint of a gun caught the corner of my eye and I forced myself not to curse. A gun. _Of course_ a fucking _gun_ prodded my temple. If anything, I thought to myself, I should have expected this. I mean, look at this place! It's filthy and filled with tattooed men!

My silence made the gun jab roughly into my skin. "You," drawled the voice, "What's your name?"

"…My mother isn't really in intensive care, is she?" I asked instead, breathing slowly. A wiggle of the shoulder; a twitch of the foot. Thin rope bound me to my seat, my hands behind the chair.

"Regular smartass, are you? Naw, your mom's perfectly fine. Sleeping like a baby right now, I bet."

Exhale. Okay. That was one good thing. "And you guys wouldn't happen to be the Dojinkai-gumi, would you?"

They all stiffened. "What's it to you?"

Oh, fuck me. "Oh, nothing. I mean, my father hasn't been chasing you guys for several months now, has he?"

The man snorted and clouted me with the side of his gun, sending my neck snapping to the side and lights dancing before my eyes. I grunted, since the pain wasn't really that much compared to how much my teeth burned with my indignation. My hands clawed at the old and damp wood of my chair, and I gritted my teeth.

"Ay, Oyabun, ya don't have to hit him that hard! He's just a little hostage, remember?" Someone from the sidelines called out surprisedly, and I heard a few people step back in trepidation and disbelief. Oyabun, huh? So the man who stood behind me was the boss.

This was not reassuring to know.

"I'm a hostage, am I?" I drawled, cutting into whatever the boss had wanted to say in response to his kobun. "Just to be clear—so the police aren't raiding your main base right now?"

The barrel pushed against the skin of my shoulder, and the boss—ah, Ashiwara Kazuto, my mind reminded me—grabbed a handful of my hair to tilt my neck back. Unimpressed with his face, I raised a brow.

"You shut up," he ordered, yanking harder on my hair. I clenched my teeth even harder. "Hostages stay silent or we do it for them."

Hah, I thought to myself. He thinks those kinds of threats can scare me?

I mean, I've died before, and no fucking shit is scarier than feeling your life slip away.

(Except for maybe one thing—)

"Do what?" I smirked. "Cut out my tongue? Or shoot me—"

_Bang!_

Well, there goes that theory.

My eye twitched as I watched the bullet exit my shoulder, feeling the blood seep from my shoulder and pool at my hip. Some of it ran down my arms and onto my hands. The wound throbbed with heat and hot-fire pain, but I could tell that the bullet hadn't hit anything really important. Whether that had been a warning shot or just incompetence I didn't know.

But _damn_ did it hurt. I bit down on my tongue and closed my eyes harshly.

"I was going to let you live," spat the yakuza with a curse, "but just looking at you is making my blood pressure rise."

"I'm a hostage," I smartly replied, receiving another clout for my efforts. _Fuck_.

Another member spoke up. "If the boss doesn't want to keep you alive, now we don't hafta, do we?" His voice reminded me of a nerd with a lisp. I focused hard on my bleeding shoulder to keep from throwing out a retort like, 'And if I don't want _you_ to live, then I don't have to tell my father to save you when he gets here, right?'

"Hey, maybe we can even get the mom," another one joined in, and I flinched, drawing a laugh out of them. "Oh? Little boy doesn't like that, does he? He doesn't want to see us fu—"

"You leave my mother alone!" I snarled, pulling my wrists away from each other. The rope gave slightly, but didn't tear. "Fuck," I swore, "You better not touch a single fucking hair on your head or I'll—"

"Or you'll what?" I could practically feel the smirk on the boss' face. His breath ghosted over my ear, and I jerked away in revulsion. "Kill us? You don't have the guts."

I do, I wanted to yell, scream at them, and tear the words into their skin. I do, and I'll murder you all if you so much as touch her!

But I fell silent, because if I died, they'd definitely get Tsubame then. I couldn't let that happen. My muscles all tensed, straining against the rope tying me down. My fingers picked at the knots, and I froze as something slipped over my finger. Wiggle room. Soon, I had the entire thing done.

My hands were free. My heart thumped with adrenaline, and I pulled the rope back around my wrists just as Ashiwara stepped away from his post and to a place a few feet in front of me.

"See?" He dragged out, "You don't have the guts to endure any more pain. Weak little baby, you are. The son of a weakling will be a weakling, after all." My chair rocked as I tried to lunge for him. The chair legs momentarily left the floor, but that was it. My shoulder continued to bleed, and soon my shirt glistened with the shiny, dark red so characteristic of vital fluid.

I wanted so much to rage at him. But planning first. My hands were free. What else was there to do?

That almost subconscious lunge had cracked a line through the wood of the left leg, and I suspected that if I lunged again, the wood would snap entirely. Feigning resignation and fear, I pulled my head down to get a glimpse of the other men in the room.

Two to the left behind me. On to the right. In front of me stood four men—one to the left, two to the right, and of course, the boss before me, right next to a moldy wooden table. I catalogued the weapons: five guns and two knives. If I could get to a knife, my right leg could get free. But then what? If I got free, what would I do? Perhaps I could grab Ashiwara's gun in his surprise if I lunged at him, but even if I shot him they'd still kill me.

And they'd go after Tsubame.

Where was Kisuke? Was he still at the raid on what wasn't even the Dojinkai-gumi's main base? When would he figure it out? When would he run back home? Had he been injured there? Was he _dead?_

Oh, please, no.

But I was a hostage, right? What for? Why would they need me? Revenge. Against who? My father. Why? He was the Chief of Police. If they killed him, they'd gain complete control over Namimori.

No.

"You've got another thing coming if you want to exchange me for my father," I hissed softly, keeping my head down.

"What's that?" Ashiwara grunted, stepping toward me.

"I _said_," and here I snapped my head up, baring my teeth menacingly, "You've got another thing coming if you think I'm just going to play along when you kill my father!"

It happened in a rush after that. As I lunged forward, my hands came up to push against the cold floor. Something sliced into my palm, but I didn't care—my weight came crashing down on my arms and my injured shoulder, and with a soft hiss I twisted my body midair so that the legs of my chair slammed full force into the man's chest. He fell back just as I ripped my legs from the now-broken wood, and I rolled out of the way of a volley of bullets so that the table shielded me from view.

Breath. Take in the surroundings. Don't fall to tunnel vision.

The boss struggled on the floor, attempting to right himself, but I darted out and grabbed his gun before he could remember to get it. _Bang!_ My arms accepted the recoil with ease, and I mentally thanked Nika's brother for teaching me how to shoot in my previous life. Blood splattered.

Oops! I didn't mean to get any of that filthy, disgusting, _dirty_ blood on me. Stepping away from a gunshot, I ran over to the nearest kobun and slid between his legs, shooting upward as I did so. Blood rained down all around me, and I laughed breathlessly at the view, because when else would I get to see such a wonderful sight? The shock on that skinny, dumbfounded face tasted amazing.

More. I needed to hurt some _more_.

"Shit! When did he—"

"Little fucker's gone insane!"

"Get him! Kill him!"

The gun hummed in my hands, and I shot wildly. _Bang! Bangbangbang!_

_Click_.

Damn it. I threw the empty hunk of metal to the side and sprinted over to the men in the back, disregarding the ones in the front for the moment. Weapon. I needed a weapon. My eyes shifted swiftly, backandforthbackandforth—aha~!

The crowbar settled snugly into my hands, perhaps a tad too big for them, but I took an experimental swing and decided that this thing fit me much better than the gun ever did. Blunt violence really was the best, after all.

"S-Stay back!" I met his eyes—ah, such an _ugly_ shade of muddy brown—and gleefully swung down, hitting his groin and pulling back slightly so that when I darted forward again the crowbar stabbed into his soft and fleshy stomach. "Guh—aah, stop, stop!" More and more of the ruby fluid sprayed around me, and I _yanked_ the weapon back to my side, clawing out his intestines and maniacally flinging the pink and squiggly organs onto another man's face. The uninjured one screamed in either revulsion or horror as his friend's organs hit him with a loud _squoomph! _Uninjured_. Not for long._

"Ahaha—ahahaha!" Swing, and the tip grazed his neck. Swing, and I caved his skull in. Swing, and he stopped breathing. Where were the others? One, two, three, four—ah, I had three left!

"Shit, run for it!"

Ara, herbivores weren't supposed to open the door! They weren't supposed to try and escape! "You can't run from a carnivore!" I chided, rushing over and pouncing on the one whose hand had barely grazed the doorknob before I dropkicked him and slammed the metal stick into his chest. Stab, stab, stab, stab—

"Hey, what are you doing?" I stopped and stared at the final two prey quivering on their asses, one beside the other. The stench of body fluids hit my nose, and my nose scrunched up in abhorrence. Oh repugnance, that is thy form. The crowbar slid with a wet squelch from the dead prey's ribs, and I took a step forward.

"No, stop! Please, I beg of you, we didn't want to kidnap you! We were against it in the first place! We—!"

_Cracksplatthumpthumpthumpthump_. I gave him one more whack for good measure. "But you're the one that mentioned raping my mother in the first place." I didn't understand; why would he lie so blatantly, so stupidly? If he had to die, he had to accept it. That was how herbivores were _supposed_ to act.

_Duh_.

The last one whimpered, tears streaming down his face to mix with snot. He blubbered incoherently to himself—or to me, I couldn't really tell—rocking back and forth. His eyes seemed to convey how his mind had snapped, and as I stared at him, at how his hands clamped down over his ears and how his eyes squinted shut, I was struck by a pang of pity.

He looked rather young for a yakuza member. Just twenty or so. Slowly my heart stopped its rapid pace, and slowly I let my muscles relax. This was just a kid; he was so young, too young. As I dropped the crowbar, the burning heat of my gunshot wound reminded me of the blood still pooling from my body. How odd adrenaline was; it temporarily numbed pain receptors so that the body wouldn't feel it until later.

Funny thing about having a mental condition/curse that derives relief from violence—I couldn't go into shock. Nice side effect, that.

So I stood there, suddenly realizing that yes, my body was soaked entirely through with blood, as that pathetic thing over there continued rocking by himself.

(The adult human body contains five-point-five liters of blood, but even then it looked like so much _more_ than that.)

What kind of a monster had I become to be able to do this?

To have been able to laugh while doing it?

What kind of a monster indeed.

**{KHRkKHR}**

Kisuke cursed, because damn, this was not what was supposed to happen at all. These yakuza members had been prepared—too prepared. As he reloaded his gun, he rolled out of the way of several bullets, eyes instantly zeroing in on each and every one of them in the split second it took them to travel through the air. One nearly reached Tanuma beside him, and he grimaced as he pulled the unaware man away.

"Pay attention!" He snapped, kicking over the table they hid underneath and proceeding to unleash several bullets into several targets. The sound of gunshots and grunts echoed throughout the room but no one seemed to notice as they all shot and shot and shot and died. "Don't make me tell your wife you died because you were spacing out, dimwit!"

It was nice to be the Chief of Police in a region; that way he could insult people all he wanted.

He took stock of the situation. Tanaka was already dead. Itsuki, Satou, Haibara—all dead. _Bang! Bang!_ The Oyabun was nowhere to be found. Reload. _Bangbangbang!_ For some reason, the reinforcements that he had called for and hour ago had failed to show up.

Ah, he realized as his eyes widened, This is a trap.

Shit.

_Bangbang!_ Reload. _Bangbangbangbangbangbang!_ "Tanuma!" He called to the officer, "Take charge! Round up these assholes! I've got to get back to headquarters to find out what happened to the reinforcements!"

"What?! Are you insane?" The older man—but not by much, Kisuke reminded himself, just three years—shouted, ducking as a bullet whirled by overhead. "They're not letting anyone leave! You'll be killed!"

"We'll _all_ be killed if I don't do something, damn it!" And that was it. He tore through the bloody skirmish and to a hole in the wall. Kami-sama. Kisuke scowled. In such a large building, how was it that everyone had made it inside this room and gotten into a full-out battle royale? This was a raid—meant to be simple, meant to be straightforward. Yeah, this was a trap, all right. Shimmying through the just-barely-enough space, the man made his way from there out of the building and into his car.

It took a while to reach the broad edifice, but when he did he wasted no time in bursting in and startling the half-asleep receptionists.

"Wha—Hibari-san, you're covered in blood!"

"I called for reinforcements hours ago!" He said instead, banging a fist on the desk. "Where are they? My men are dying over there, and I need to know who's going to back them up!"

"What—?"

"It was a trap, okay?! Damn it, call Atobe and get him to round up his men! They need to get over there ASAP!"

"H-Hai!"

Finally! Kisuke turned on his heel and ran back to the entrance, but a surprised voice caused him to flinch and turn around.

"H-Hibari-san! A note! Kami-sama, it's a ransom note!"

No. Ransom? Who was close enough to him that could—

Tsubame, his Sparrow.. Kyouya, his Little Skylark, even though he omitted the 'Little' these days.

_No._

He couldn't snatch the slip out of her hand fast enough. His eyes ran over the words ones—get here, we have your son, kill yourself—and his heart stopped for a total of three seconds.

_We have your son._

Kyouya. Kyouya, Kyouya, Kyouya.

Little Skylark.

Kisuke couldn't run to his car fast enough.

**{KHR18KHR}**

My mind had descended into a cloudy haze. Silence deafened my ears, and all I could think was, You're a monster, you killed these men and yet you don't even regret doing so. Monster.

Carnivore. That was what I had called myself before, wasn't it? A carnivore. A monster.

Whimpering, crying, silence. The sounds seemed to ring in my ears at constant intervals. The boy would cry for a moment and then fall silent, then begin sobbing even louder until the noises died down into whimpers and keening. I stared at the bloody crowbar on the ground.

Monster.

"Kyouya!"

At first I didn't recognize the voice that called out for me. It resonated from outside, and instantly connected with my heart so that I relaxed and perked up without even realizing. Who was this? Who was he?

"Kyouya! Are you in there?" The voice seemed to be looking for me.

"I—" I cleared my throat, because it had suddenly gotten so dry. "I'm here!"

The door flew open, and there he was.

Father. Otou-san. _Kisuke._

"Kyouya!" He didn't seem capable of saying anything other than my name, appearing by my side in a flash and drawing me up into a bone-crushing hug that put my earlier one to shame. For some reason, that one had felt like so long ago. Had it really only been a few hours?

The whimpering stopped, but I didn't notice.

"Otou-san," I murmured softly, clutching his shirt. There was blood on it, and it didn't come from me. "I—I didn't mean to—"

"But you're safe," he exhaled, unmindful of the blood he kneeled in. "You're safe, Skylark. That's all that matters. Oh, thank Benten, kami, whoever. _You're not dead_."

The boy shifted slightly, but again, I didn't notice.

"I killed them." My voice cracked as I admitted this. "I killed them and I _liked_ it, because they said that if I died they'd go after Okaa-san."

Kisuke laughed softly. "Then all the more reason to have killed them, hmm? Oh damn, don't tell anyone I just said that, haha. That's not very befitting of a Police Chief, is it?"

"No, it isn't," I replied, letting a thread of humor seep into my tone. "I won't tell."

"Well, that's wonderfu—_Kyouya!_"

_Bang!_

What?

"Ah—aha…ahahahaha! AhahaHAHAHAHA!" I whipped around, almost giving myself whiplash as I stared wide-eyed at the boy leveling a gun at me. He continued laughing, guffawing maniacally even as tears streamed down his face. I could only stare at my father's body draped protectively over mine.

Kisuke, with a hole in his back. Kisuke, with blood that was _his_ pouring out of him.

Kisuke, who still smiled at me even at my look of absolute horror. He whispered something to me that I didn't catch.

He was _still_ smiling as the wistful light faded from his eyes.

My heart stopped.

No. Nonono_nono__**nonono**_.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—"

_No_.

"AHAHAHAHA—"

_**No**__._

AHAHAHA—guhk—"

The boy fell and clutched his crushed windpipe. I let my arm drop back to my side.

This couldn't be happening. Had he just—had he _protected_ me?

He had a wife to go back to, damn it! Tsubame was still waiting for us—for _him_ to get back to her side! Damn it, damn it, damn it! Fucking damn it, Kisuke!

_("I won't ever let you get hurt.")_

Why the fuck is your smile so damn happy?!

I screamed, and was still screaming as the police filed into the building hours later.

.

.

.

**A/N: …Um. Hi.**

**PLEASEDON'TKILLMEOHMYGOSHWHATAREYOUDOINGWITHTHATKNIFE.**

**Don't give me that look! You guys kinda knew from my thinly-veiled foreshadowing that something would go wrong! Only, well, Kisuke didn't die during the raid. He died after it.**

**And yes, I did plan his death. From the very beginning. But I'm very heartbroken right now, because I just killed him, and damn it, I wasn't supposed to grow attached!**

**Aaaaaah. /bashes head into wall multiple times**

**Poor Kyouya. I can never seem to give him (fictional me, really) a break. This is weird, since I'm a sadist writing about causing pain to myself.**

**Ow, my head.**

**Leave me a PM or review to tell me what you think! A heads up—next chapter is going to be also a bit of a downer. Go read some fluff in the meantime!**

**QUESTION: Did any of you guys actually think that Kisuke would live? What are your thoughts on Tsubame?**


	8. Chapter 8

Do As You Like Chapter Eight

I was lost. The walls around me bore down like the sides of a prison, and I stumbled in several directions before sighing and walking down paths I had yet to try. The air smelled of sterile antiseptic, the halls silent save for my barely audible footsteps along the linoleum floor.

I hated hospitals. They always reminded me of death and sickness, despite most doctors' attempts to remove those traces from the foundation. But I could always taste it somewhat, and feel the taint crawling on my skin. The odd sensation had never been prevalent in my previous life, so I chalked up my aversion to this body, or perhaps the curse.

So there I was, wandering in circles like a dumbass because I'd decided to take a walk and ended up somewhere else entirely. I wasn't sure if I was still in the regions accessible by visitors and patients alike. Certainly not, I figured as I passed by metal doors and caught sight of test tubes on tables. The laboratories held a certain menace; malicious and yet unbiased, clean and yet dirty at the same time. Something curled up in my stomach, heady and warm, and I rounded a corner only to come face-to-face with rows of covered bodies.

…I honestly should have expected as much. With a wrinkle of my nose, I backed out of the room and continued walking. Surprisingly enough there hadn't been the sweet perfume of blood in the air—just the same disinfectant used all throughout the hospital. Had I stayed there any linger perhaps I might have caught a whiff of offal or rotting flesh, but then again perhaps not. I had no way of knowing, as within a minute I climbed a flight of stairs and frowned at the all the doors.

Huh. Back on the surface again, it seems.

A nurse came by at that moment and paused her work—she was the young, pretty type with lovely chocolate hair and clear blue eyes so uncommon in Japan—to scrutinize me. She adjusted the large eyeglasses on her nose before tilting her head.

What she saw appeared to be a small boy, perhaps seven or so, with a light build that bordered on an outright scrawny form. Dressed in typical hospital patient attire, he was entirely out of place in the area. Perhaps even odder than his location, though, was the sharp, haggard look in his eyes and the pristine bandages wrapped around his shoulder.

In other words, she took a glance at me and flinched because apparently I didn't really look like a kid. I couldn't blame her for that.

"Hi there," she called out to me, leaving the cart she had previously pushed to come closer and lay a hand on my uninjured shoulder. "Are you lost?"

I shrugged, then nodded.

"Not a very talkative one, are you?" She asked with a slightly nervous titillation. Like fluttery bird's trill, I thought absently. "Well then, where is your room? Do you remember your room number?"

"1412," I reported, not really looking at her in favor of studying the bland, white walls. How anyone found their way around here I had no idea; this hallways looked exactly the same as the one that brought me down to the labs. "Children's ward."

"Alright then!" Exclaimed the nurse, beaming before seeming to realize that I wasn't one for holding hands unless I offered. Instead she placed her hand between my shoulder blades and prodded me forward. I came willingly enough, matching her set pace of andante.

She attempted small talk the entire way back, not even pausing to turn around this corner or go up that flight of stairs. There was an absent awareness in her gait, and it appeared that she'd traversed these halls for a while now, perhaps several years if I had guessed her age wrong. Not once did she lead us astray, and I appreciated that fact; too many times had I ended up somewhere I didn't want (case and point for the labs). As she spoke, I listened with half an ear. Eventually, she gave up and settled for simply smiling at me.

The pediatrics ward sat sandwiched between the emergency rooms and the neurologic surgery department, and on the days where I didn't wander, I got to observe odd people sporting odd injuries being escorted to either the surgical department for emergency surgery or their own rooms for long-term rehabilitation. Namimori hospital held a great number of rooms, really, and was actually the best hospital in the town, if not the entire region. With vast walkways, it stood to reason that most people found themselves misplaced if inattentive with their directions. Who knew how many times I had walked in on someone with a nail in his foot or a mummified woman.

During my stay there thus far the doctors tried to welcome me as best as they could, but they seemed to have read how I had received my shoulder injury (and what had happened directly after that). Therefore they either treated me like an animal about to snap, or something that could shatter at the slightest touch. It irked me, somewhat, as did the fact that I stayed in the pediatrics ward, but I made due.

(To be honest, though, they were absolutely correct.)

The nurse waved me goodbye as she left, no doubt to head back to the cart she had abandoned, and I watched her go before turning on my heel and heading to my bed to curl up under the covers. My feet had been bare the entire time, and it was nice to feel something warm on my toes. Like the idiot that I was, I hadn't bothered with shoes.

Alone in the room, I stared at the ceiling and counted the barely-there spidery cracks in the corners that the hospital probably deemed too troublesome to fix. My shoulder ached, as it had done so for the last few days, and I prodded the wound gently before hissing and letting my hand fall on my chest. It was half-healed; in a few days I'd be released. Idly I wondered what I would do then. What I would do when I got home.

I hadn't visited Tsubame, not yet. Sometimes on my walks (read: lost journeys) I attempted to navigate to her room, but I was useless without Ki—

—my father to help me. It made me feel stupid. Idiotic. Like I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag.

My stomach growled then, and I tilted my head so that I could barely see it over my chest. Ah. So that was why my ruminating seemed so much more depressing than usual. I tried not to think about the fact that I should still be grieving, but six days after Kis… That Day, my tear ducts were physically incapable of generating tears. I'd tried. Now my face just felt numb, and I banished the thoughts as my legs swung over the bed again I slipped the hospital slippers on to protect from the cold.

(Protection, protection, how I _hated_ that word.)

Ugh. I'd only just gotten back to the room, too, but I couldn't neglect my hunger. It would only serve to irritate me further, and I shook my head, gritting my teeth. No. Think about something other than the curse, you idiot. The door closed with a sound akin to a muted slam, and I stalked in one direction—the direction away from the one I had come from—in hopes that it would lead me to my destination. Miraculously (or perhaps not, since the cafeteria was literally just three hallways away and I wasn't that bad), it didn't take long to get there.

So. The cafeteria. Broad walls, fluorescent lights, chattering people. My senses took in the atmosphere, and I let my eyes trail from table to table, taking in the patrons. They were all loud, I noted. Each and every one of them, from the youngest child to the eldest man. Happy. Laughing.

Nonsense. I tore my gaze away and swiped a tray from the lunch line, piling on the food before escaping the overly happy room. This was a hospital, I disdained, not some clubhouse. People _died_ here, why could they not _recognize_ that?

Deciding to try my luck at finding Tsubame again (I absolutely refused to have someone help me, because I was _Hibari Kyouya_, and I wasn't going to let _someone else_ find my mother for me), I shoveled the bland congee into my mouth as my legs carried me far away. Should the feeling wracking my mind have been embarrassment, I wouldn't have hesitated to demand for an escort, but this was something else entirely.

Pride. I wasn't going to lose to some maze-like _walls_. That'd be pathetic. Even worse than Tsuna.

And I had nothing left of myself, if not my tenacity and pride.

Even as plain walls encroached on my lost form once again, I tried not to think of it as a weakness.

**{KHR18KHR}**

When I spotted her lying on the bed, completely oblivious to my presence, I almost closed the door and ran away. But I couldn't run away, since that would mean I had given up, so I steeled myself and strode in like I owned the room.

(Though, all things considered, the Hibari clan really did own the hospital—we just didn't plaster our name the walls.)

Tsubame looked different from she had the last time I visited, sporting a not-quite-but-close-enough healthy glow and a smile that lit up the room. Her skin seemed to have lost the sallow tint that had plagued her for months, and her hair shined in the dim room as if to denote her growing strength. "Ara, Kyo-kun?" She vocalized with a hint of confusion in her tone, "This is a surprise! Where is Tou-chan?"

…What? I stilled, staring uncomprehendingly at her face, as if it held the answers to every problem in the world. What did she mean by, 'Where is Tou-chan?' Where was his body? Where was his mistake? And yet she had meant the question literally—no other motives hid themselves in her voice. The shock caught up with my body then, and I felt my hands shake with fine tremors, a thousand questions tangled up in my throat.

"O-Otou-san isn't here," I replied shakily, a hand reaching up to press against the hole in my shoulder. I didn't hiss, but the threat of my thumb over the bandages was enough for me to focus back on the situation. "How are you, Okaa-san?"

Frowning now, my mother pushed the covers away from her hips and swung her legs off of the bed. Huh. She couldn't do that before, so that definitely meant that she was recovering. "Kyouya, what happened here? Did you get hurt?" Her palm ghosted over my hand, and I left my fingers drop.

As most children did when confronted with an uncomfortable question, I attempted to lie. The key word being attempted. "I was too late to block a knife on my patrols." Tsubame, of course, could always spot my fibs, so the crease in her brow darkened further, hey eyes gaining a reproachful gleam.

"A knife wound doesn't look like that." Her tone rankled me and invoked a certain feeling of chagrin in the pit of my stomach. She sounded blunt and honest, as well as not amused in the slightest. Like me, I realized. She was where this body had gotten that disinterested inflection. "When and how did a bullet pass through your shoulder?"

I grew tight-lipped. I didn't want to answer, nor did I want to remember. That day, I hoped, would remain deep-seated within my subconscious, ready to call upon but never asked to. My mouth remained closed.

"_Kyouya._"

Ki—_my father_ had never been able to deny that steely voice, but I was different. I turned away from her and let my eyes dart back to the door; if I ran, she would not be able to catch me. She would not make me remember.

But I didn't run, because _Hibari don't give up_, and instead let the moment pass with bated breath. Tsubame connected our eyes, and I flinched from the look in hers that promised divine retribution if I didn't _spill everything right now_.

Just as I opened my mouth, a frantic doctor burst into the room, startling us both and sending me careening to the side slightly from his bump to my uninjured shoulder. Our gazes met—he knew what he was doing, and there was sympathy in those eyes.

"Ah, Hibari-san, you shouldn't be out of bed! No, no, no, no, no! Sit back down! Today is all about resting; do you not remember what happened yesterday?"

Yesterday? Ah. So she wasn't as recovered as I had thought.

Scowling, my mother threw a syringe at him (a feat that I gawked at, because _where had she gotten it from?_), and he dodged it with a certain nonchalance that told me this was standard procedure for the two of them. Like a routine. The man rolled his clear blue eyes and scratched his messy mop of jet-black hair. He was thin, with a bird-like bone structure that bordered on eerily ghost-like, and the watch on his wrist slid down to his forearm with the motion.

Tsubame huffed. "Wase-kun, I feel fine today. I'm not invalid! I can walk just fine."

"Ah," countered the doctor, "but that feeling is short-lived. You are recovering for sure, but even the least strenuous activity may worsen your condition."

"Condition-shmundition," she mocked, looking menacing and caustic. I'd never seen her like this before, since she usually radiated sweetness and calm, but then again she was usually with Ki—

—with my father. I wanted to hit myself. I wasn't supposed to be this pathetic. I wasn't supposed to be pathetic whatsoever.

So why did his name hurt me so much?

"Lie. Down." Wase-hakase crossed his arms and raised a brow. I held my breath when Tsubame shifted in her spot, then let it rush out of me silently when she also crossed her arms and stood her ground.

"I refuse."

"I am your doctor, Hibari-san. Heed my advice, since we both know you don't want to extend your stay even longer than it's meant to be."

"That's your _advice_. I'm not taking it."

"Think about your body for once, you crazy woman!" He snapped, flicking a pen at her. She caught it and sent it back. He dodged, and the plastic object lodged itself in the wall.

"I _am_ thinking about my body, you dolt! Do you see me climbing the walls?"

"No, but I see you _still_ standing on your feet! Get to bed!"

Seething, my mother parted her lips to release her next set of abrasive words before I interrupted their derailing conversation.

"…Okaa-san, I think you should be resting right now."

The room fell silent. Tsubame leveled a betrayed look in my direction, and Wase-hakase stared at me before turning back to the dark-haired woman beside me. We waited for her answer as she reeled back before deflating slightly.

"Oh, fine. But only because you're telling me to, Kyo-kun," she acquiesced, reproachfully glaring at the doctor. Childishly, she stuck out her tongue at him. A sense of awe washed over me as she did so, and a feeling of melancholy washed over me. Had my father ever seen her like this? He had, right?

As she glided back to her bed, Wase-hakase threw an approving look my way. I decided not to comment on it.

"So you're the Kyouya-kun that I've heard so much about," the man began haltingly, if only to break the ice. The two of us were strangers, of that I could tell, but he also knew much more. He'd been caring for my mother for six months now, and it was a wonder we'd never met before. I knew next to nothing about him. Tsubame had likely informed the doctor everything she knew and felt about me, and from the way he had no doubt of my identity, he'd also read my profile.

Something was up, I decided. Something that the hospital was trying to keep under wraps. An inkling bloomed in my mind, and I eyed his posture before settling my gaze on my grumbling mother.

She didn't know about Kisuke.

(Something stabbed my chest, but I ignored it because he was my _father_, and I was never meant to flinch at his name.)

But she didn't know. _Why didn't she know?_

"I'd like to speak with you outside, please," Wase-hakase murmured, not bothering for my reply and instead grabbing me by the arm and pulling me outside. The action jostled my shoulder a bit, but I wasn't about to protest. I threw him a furtive glance before turning back to see Tsubame frowning thoughtfully. She didn't say anything as we exited the room.

Several hallways later, the doctor abruptly stopped. I nearly crashed into his back, but caught myself in time. "Is this about…" I started, hesitantly, looking up rather than down.

He tilted his head and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "Yes."

"Why doesn't she know? She's my mother, she's supposed to know that I'm injured at the very least, if not the fact that _her husband is dea—_"

"I don't like it either," he bit at me, cutting my trail of thought off. We stared at one another, me with a grudging expression and him with a disgruntled one. "But it wasn't my decision to make. The head of the department decided on it."

More questions piled up in my brain, and I bit my lip harsh enough to draw blood. I didn't feel it. "Why?"

He trained a raised brow on my face. "I thought you would have noticed. She's getting better, obviously."

"So? She's supposed to be recovering. Or are you doctors just not doing your jobs?"

Frustrated, he glared at me. "We're doing our jobs fine. But this is the first concrete progress we've seen in months. Tell me—does your mother love your father?"

My back stiffened, and my eyes flared with the newfound knowledge. "No," I breathed, "I mean, yes to the question. But… She doesn't know because they don't want to tell her." They, though. Who were _they?_

"It might cause a relapse," confirmed Wase-hakase grimly, and for the first time since I saw him I could see the dark pockets of skin under his eyes as well as the heavy arch to his brows, despite his young age. "The hospital director thinks that if she knows, her constitution might break. She's recovering, and they're only waiting for her to fully return to her former state. After that, they think it'll be fine to tell her."

"But that's wrong," I spat before I could help myself. "My father is—Kisuke is dead!" My voice came out as a hiss, as if whispering could somehow dull the effect of those words. It didn't.

The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know. I was against the decision. But it's true; if we tell her, she will be at risk of death due to shock. There's a strong connection between the mind and the body, Kyouya-kun." His startling ultramarine eyes held a great, heavy weight, and my breath left me with a whoosh. "We cannot tell her until we are sure her body can handle it."

The words struck a chord in me somewhere. I knew what he meant—what it meant to have a body and mind that didn't quite fit and yet fit all too well. I knew what it meant to have your mind dictate your body, and your body your mind. But I didn't want to agree with him. It almost pained me to admit it, though, that deep inside me I didn't want to tell Tsubame yet.

But the betrayal. What would be the point of keeping her alive if she would not appreciate it once the truth came out?

_Would she hate me for killing Kisuke?_

No, I couldn't think about that. I couldn't bear to imagine her reaction, her expressions, her words. The scenario hurt me more than I thought it would, and I stamped it out before it could get out of hand. Inhale. Exhale. Remember to breathe. "You're right," I admitted with a pained grimace on my face. "You're right, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"I'm not expecting you to," he returned with a wry and dry smile. Like all of his happiness had been lost to his job, like he couldn't afford to be happy any longer. It only further cemented my dislike for hospitals, and I huffed before turing on my heel. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know," I called back, not wanting to return to Tsubame's side for all that I missed her and wanted her to soothe the ache in my chest away. But she didn't know _why_ I felt so much pain, and wouldn't for some time yet. I couldn't go to her.

"Don't you know?" I continued, pressing my bare toes into the cold tile and inhaling the scent of ethyl alcohol and antiseptic, "I get lost quite often."

**{KHR18KHR}**

So I went on with life after that. A month passed before I even realized the time slipping away, and though I wasn't yet at home (apparently the doctors wanted to keep me under observation for the gun shot wound, but I knew they were searching for psychological kinks), I could almost pretend that I was. I didn't really get lost anymore, and more often than not I led lost children around to their rooms when I got too bored.

But to be honest, I mostly stewed in my thoughts and began terrorizing the delinquents that came in for brutish injuries—a broken arm from a brawl, a torn tendon from a skirmish, a fractured leg received from a beating. I did my best to patrol the emergency rooms even when the nurses tried to usher me out, and I was satisfied to note that delinquents didn't usually give Namimori Hospital their patronage anymore. I was a nice (sadistic) feeling, and even thinking about it could wean the burning from my gums.

Once every three days I would stop by to see my mother and talk about my day with her, or whatever went on in the news. She never asked me about what Wase-hakase (who I now knew as Shiya Wase, which was a terrible pun on his parents' part) and I had spoken about that day, and I never brought it up. We steered clear of the idea well enough.

That was, until Tsubame decided to ask me about Kisuke.

The question had come out of nowhere, and I actually flinched before passing off the reaction as a shudder from the cool air conditioning. But she had caught the movement, and pelted me with question after question, demand after demand, day after day.

"Where is Kisuke?"

"Why isn't he with you?"

"I want to see him, Kyouya. Can you call him here?"

"I haven't seen him for so long! I don't care if he has work—just bribe the officers and he'll be here before we can—"

"…Kyouya."

It was this last one that truly bothered me, much more than the ones before. Her voice had been so serious, and yet her eyes had been so shiny—in the manner that if eyes were the window to the soul, her house had burned down long ago. So alarmed by that look was I that I could only stammer out my usual excuse that he had too much work before hightailing it out of there as fast as I could. I couldn't forget that expression, and I wouldn't forget it for a long time, not until I was too old to remember what my parents had looked like in my youth.

Having barely escaped the mess of that day, I stopped visiting my mother. I still saw her, of course, but only through the little window of her door, and even then she never saw me. But by now she had started some light rehabilitation exercises from so much bed rest, and Wase-hakase couldn't deny her from walking around on her own for any longer. One more month. The man had told me just yesterday that in one month she'd be discharged. Certainly, Tsubame was regaining her strength at a wonderful pace.

Yet, despite this wonderful news, I was dreading the day her freedom would truly come. I was no idiot—if anyone held the right to tell my mother, it was me. But I didn't want to. I didn't want to give her a few words and watch her break before my eyes. Tsubame was strong, much stronger than I was, but also infinitely weak. Love was a weakness—it had been the reason why Kisuke had died and why I still grieved to this day—and Tsubame's heart pumped steadily in her chest, filled to the brim with the abstract noun.

I didn't want to do it.

I _couldn't_ do it.

So the days ticked by again, slower than ever, and I began to visit her once more. She smiled often, and when I asked her, two weeks into the last month, why she kept smiling, she just ruffled my hair and said,

"Are you silly? Once I get out of here I can see Tou-chan!"

And I could only stare. I could only barely hear her next words over the ringing in my ears, the white static noise that thrummed with each pulse at my temple. My mind drew a blank. My eyes didn't water, but had I the ability I would have begun crying like the seven-year-old boy that I was. But I couldn't and I didn't and all because I _wasn't_ that little boy.

Instead, I made a mistake.

And it cost me everything.

"…What would you do if he wasn't alive anymore?"

She didn't ask me who I was talking about. She didn't need to know. My mother merely blinked and let her eyes look ahead in a manner I found disturbing. In a manner that told me everything. In a manner that told me that this was the moment when I realized by the burned-down house in her soul that I had finally, finally confirmed her thoughts. That I had finally shredded up that tiny, tiny piece of hope that had come from the pandora's box of the day I came to visit her alone.

It was the only mistake that I could never take back.

**{KHRtKHR}**

Contrary to what some people might have believed due to her overly happy demeanor, Tsubame was not stupid. Nor was she naïve, and nor was she ignorant. She'd been raised a Xun and later grown to become a Hibari, and she knew when people lied to her.

No, not a lie; they merely omitted certain things and prevaricated about certain topics. The day she noticed was the day she asked Wase-kun (ah, he was such a nice doctor, but also too mother-henny) for a phone to schedule a visit with her husband. He'd never had reason to deny her before—sometimes he was the one to remind her to call—but that day he had frozen up, turned to look at her, and calmly informed that the phone lines in the hospital were down, and could she please get back to bed? Her breathing was getting shallow.

"Then give me your phone. It doesn't need a phone line."

He made a show of rummaging in his pockets even though she could see the thin outline of it in his jacket, and laughed. "Ahaha, wow, I can't believe I left it at home! The director's going to kill me if he finds out I forgot it!"

_Suspicious_. Later that day, Tsubame asked on of the visitors in the hall across if she could borrow her phone. When she phoned home, phoning Kisuke's cell as well, no one answered.

She didn't like this. She didn't like this at all.

And then her Little Skylark visited her one day with trembling hands and wide, shocked eyes, and she just smiled and bantered with her doctor in order to make the look vanish. She kept smiling even when Wase-kun pulled her son out of the room, and she kept smiling as she drew up a picture in her mind of the bandages on her son's shoulder.

Point blank. Fired from behind. Entry and exit hole confirmed. No major veins or arteries hit, but a great amount of damage to surrounding muscle tissue.

Conclusion: Kyouya had been kidnapped, and someone had shot him. Tsubame wanted to interrogate him—why did he lie, why couldn't he tell her, _where was Kisuke?_—but he never came back that day. Her blossoming ire drained away when the gaunt man laughed and began to ask her about her son.

Suspicions grew. Tsubame knew about a raid on a yakuza group, but hadn't that been a while ago? It made sense, though. A gunshot generally required a couple of weeks to heal, especially on a child, so it led her to believe that the yakuza had kidnapped her son. Somehow or other, Kyouya had lived (but with a haunted look in his eyes even as he hid it) but Kisuke wasn't there.

Something cold and icy gripped her heart, and she ignored it because _of course_ the hospital would tell her if Kisuke had died. Right?

_Right?_

But she became impatient as days passed by. Kisuke wasn't dead—he _couldn't_ be dead—and she wanted to make sure of the fact. She demanded to see her husband. She hounded her son, her doctor, hell, even the nurses that came by. Their answers all told her the same thing: Kisuke had too much work to visit.

Who cared about work? She was his wife! And he was the Chief of Police—he could, at the very least, squeeze in one hour away from his desk. Nothing made sense.

The cold dread grew. Again, Tsubame ignored it, but this time it was too much to bear.

And then Kyouya confirmed it.

When he left, she kept up appearances, but couldn't help the tears that ran down her cheeks in the middle of the night.

Up in the sky, the moon was black.

**{KHR18KHR}**

"You're lying." My voice trembled like a leaf in autumn, and I my fingers dug tiny little crescents beaded with red as I clenched my fists. "You are _lying_."

Wase-hakase bit his lip and looked down so that his fringe made a shadow on his face. "I'm not. Hibari Tsubame passed away last night at—"

"Stop! Stop lying! She's not dead! She can't be dead!"

"Kyouya—"

"Don't call me that!" I hissed, teeth burning. "Don't say anything! She can't be—is this a joke? Today is the day of her release! She can't be dead!"

"She is. Do you need to go to the psychology division?"

"No, I don't! Shut up! Shut up, shut up, _shut up!_" I didn't care that I looked like a brat. I didn't care that bystanders crowded all around me, curious of my outburst. No. They were too close. I felt lost, and confused, and—and in _denial_, and they were _too close_. No, I didn't need a tissue. No, I didn't need a hug. No, I didn't want any snacks.

_I want my Okaa-san. _

I shot through the ring of people and down the hallway, away and away until I found my mother's room. Disregarding the startled nurses, I threw the door back and dashed in. She wasn't there. Heart pounding a war beat in my chest, I darted out of there as fast as I could and down a flight of stairs, down several corridors until I reached the room with the corpses.

I slowed as I neared it, breaths shallow and frantic. No. I didn't have the courage to go in. What if she was in there? What if she really _was_ dead?

I stepped inside anyway, because I couldn't run. Not now, not ever.

I didn't recognize her at first. Like all the others, a white sheet covered her face, but three rows in I noticed a female body that had familiarly shiny black hair. My heart stopped beating, started again, and began to hop about irregularly.

_No_.

My hand gently peeled back the sheet, and staring at my mother's peaceful, smiling face (like she was just sleeping, but she _wasn't_ sleeping and would never awake again) I resisted the urge to vomit on the floor. Her eyes were stitched shut. Her skin was ghostly pale. Otherwise, I almost expected her to open her eyes and scold me for staring at her.

But no. No, no, no, no_no__**no**_. _**No**_.

"You shouldn't be down here, Kyouya-kun. How did you find this room, anyway?"

"Hakase," I exhaled, not looking at him. "She's—Okaa-san really is—"

A strangled, dying noise filled the room, and it took a moment to realize that it had come from me. Stepping away from the doorway, Wase-hakase planted a firm hand on my bicep. "I know. Kyouya-kun," he said softly, "Don't look." With that, he pulled the sheet back over my mother's face.

Time had a funny way of working. I had seen her just yesterday. She had been able to walk. She had almost been able to run. She had brightened with every passing hour, and couldn't stop talking about finally meeting Kisuke, about finally getting to eat some real food. Wase-hakase had taken offense, and the two had descended into their typical rapport. A typical, normal, simple day.

"You didn't tell her."

"I didn't."

"…How did she die? There's no blood."

The doctor hummed, pulling me backward. I didn't move, so he sighed slightly and aborted the motion. "We cleaned it all off. There was… There was a lot of blood when I checked on her in the morning."

A part of me wondered why he saw it fit to tell a seven-year-old about this. The other part didn't care. "She was _recovering_." The accusation shot out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"That's what we're concerned about, Kyouya-kun. We don't really think she was."

What? "What do you mean by that? We could physically see the results. And who are 'we?'"

The man paused, and I took that moment to look up at him. The veins in his eyes stood in stark contrast to his white sclera. Bloodshot. An indescribably sad aura radiated from his being, and my arm twitched. Sadness, grief, frustration; such emotions made animals, herbivore or not, weak, and I clamped down on my feelings of bloodlust lest I lash out and harm him.

Funny. In my past life I had never been so violent. While I stared at him, Wase-hakase hesitated before taking a deep, bracing breath.

"Our doctors were curious. What happened? Did she find out? Did the antibiotics fail her at the last moment? They finished the investigation a couple of hours ago, you know. You're the first person we've told."

"Stop beating around the bush and spit it out."

"Kyouya-kun."

I tasted copper and iron. My lip bled again and I bit at the formerly healed flesh. The man—ahh, I'd forgotten, he was only twenty-eight, so young for a doctor—dabbed at my mouth with a handkerchief, and I let him. His hands didn't shake, but his breathing did. His exhalations brushed over the top of my head, as if he were on the verge of tears.

"…What?"

"The antibiotics had never worked in the first place. The 'recovery' we saw was all through her own willpower. To be honest, everyone is baffled. She should have died earlier, but not only did she live, she got better."

Like a placebo effect, I thought dazedly, touching his hand. Tsubame hadn't _really_ benefitted from the pills they fed her daily. Not in a biological manner, anyway. I opened my mouth, noticed that my throat was dry, and coughed. I suddenly couldn't speak.

"Essentially, Hibari-san died because she had lost her willpower," he continued, tilting his head and staring over at my mother's body. "But enough about that. Let's get out of here."

Wait. He pushed me toward the door, and my legs followed his. Wait. Out footsteps sounded in unison, slow and tired and steady. "Wait."

We stopped. "Kyouya-kun?"

I yanked myself away from him and balked before running back to my mother's side. My hand moved before me—almost like I viewed the world from a computer screen or a movie—and exposed my mother's face once more. Her skin was smooth and cold to touch, and very stiff. Rigor mortis, my mind supplied. I whispered something to her before covering her again and running back to the doctor's side.

"We can leave now," I announced with a hollow tone. We made our way back to the surface, back to my spartan hospital room. Why did I still have a room, anyway? I wasn't even injured anymore.

Wase-hakase gave me a side-along glance. "What did you say to her?"

"What makes you think I said anything?"

He didn't answer. I didn't tell him.

_("Good night, Kaa-chan. Sleep tight.")_

.

.

.

**A/N: WHY AM I DOING THIS. WHY. WHYYYYYYY.**

**I wasn't supposed to do this. In my mind, I was like, oh, hey, I should let her live to troll the guys who thought she would die, but then I decided that such an empty existence was even worse than giving up and dying. (Ahhhh, noo, Tsubame broke that creeeeeeddddd.) The whole idea of her not knowing until she fully recovered just hit me when I wondered who would tell her. A hospital's not going to tell her about her husband dying head on, ya know? Had they done so, she would have died right then and there. But really, that was all in vain and she figured it out all by herself.**

**Actually, it backfired on them. She figured it out, but had hope he was alive the entire time because they didn't tell her. Stupid, stupid hospital peoples.**

**Ahahaha...haaaa…haaaaaaaaaaaauwaaaaaaahhhhh… I'm so saaaaaddddd.**

**Oh hey, I'm adding an interlude next chapter in Tsuna's POV, since I think you guys have had enough of Kyouya's grief and denial. He's getting so messed up, what a poor child. Still haven't figured out if I'm really a sadist anymore. On one hand I'm getting such a kick out of seeing you guys' reactions, and on the other I'm making myself suffer in two ways. Man, am I messed up, haha. **

**And crowds. Hah.**

**Hmm, I wonder what's been going on with Fon, yeah?**

**QUESTION: How did you guys find my story? And on a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate me, haha? **


	9. The Sky's Interlude

Do As You Like Chapter Nine: Interlude

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tsuna poked his work desk with his mechanical pencil in a rhythmic, noteless tune, squinting at the homework on his desk. He didn't get it. How was he supposed to do this? Making a column? Lining up the numbers? Carrying the two?

How did one subtract seven from twenty? A part of him wanted to count on his fingers, but then again he didn't have twenty fingers. Ah, but he had toes, the boy noticed as he bent over, looking at his tiny little feet. How many toes did he have? Uh…

"Ten plus ten equals twenty!" He shrieked in pleasant surprise, straightening up and banging his head on the underside of his desk.

…Ow. He rubbed his head tenderly, wiping away a tear from his eye. Ow, ow, ow! That hurt!

But Tsuna wouldn't cry. He was a big kid now, a whole _six years old_, and he had to be a man for his Mama. He had to have _conviction_ and _determination_ and _awesomeness_!

Like his Tou-chan, his mind supplied. But not all the way like his Tou-chan, because his Tou-chan wasn't all the way awesome. So, maybe not Tou-chan.

Like Hibari-san? Certainly, Hibari-san was awesome (the awesomest!), and could have conviction as well as determination, but not all the time. Sometimes his older friend was waaay too lazy, like that one time where he wouldn't get off of Tsuna's bed because he couldn't be bothered to move. But Tsuna had been sleepy and tired, and cranky—and usually no one messed with Tsuna when he got cranky—but Hibari-san just smirked and yawned, falling asleep right there.

Like, what. Tsuna had just stared at him and given up, nudging the boy aside and crawling in after him. Mou, he could be so silly sometimes!

But not now. The brunet wasn't absolutely sure, but he had this… feeling. A feeling that was similar to the one he had gotten a month or so ago in the middle of the night, startling his mother awake as he shot up in his bed with a cry on his lips. Something _bad_ had happened to Hibari-san, he conceived with apprehension. He didn't know what, but _something had happened_.

As he had predicted the day after the realization, Hibari-san hadn't come to school. Or the day after that. Or the day after that one. And now, a whole month after that feeling (dream? intuition?) he still hadn't seen Hibari-san. It felt like a long time to him, and the boy worried nearly every moment. When he stopped by Hibari-san's house every day, no one was home, and the shoji door still lied in pieces on the ground.

It hurt and scared him at the same time, because Hibari-san was super duper strong and amazing. The only one to believe in Tsuna. The only one to stand up for Tsuna when the bullies came.

(Though nowadays they came in hordes, the number had been rather low when Hibari-san had still been around.)

What could make Hibari-san break his promise to meet Tsuna every day? For an entire forty days? The very thought made him nervous.

So had just tapped his pencil and thought about his math. He didn't understand a lot of things about first grade, and the learning hurt his head, but he had to struggle onward, if not for himself then for Hibari-san. These were just a few problems, Tsuna reasoned, problems that Hibari-san could do in his sleep (he had proof). And if these were so easy for Hibari-san, what was so hard for him now?

Tsuna shouldn't have wanted to know, since Hibari-san was a bit of a loner like that, but he still did. Even if he couldn't help, he wanted to know.

After all, that way Hibari-san wouldn't be alone in this, right?

**{KHR27KHR}**

Tsuna found out why the following morning when he tumbled down the stairs and over into the kitchen. Sitting in her usual spot at the table, his Mama gasped at the headline in the news. His hackles rose, and goosebumps prickled on his skin at the sound, so he picked himself up and ran to her side.

ERADICATION OF THE DOJINKAI-GUMI FINALLY REVEALED!

CHIEF OF POLICE KILLED IN POLICE-YAKUZA WAR!

SEVEN-YEAR-OLD BOY MURDERS SEVEN MEN IN SELF DEFENSE!

It was the last one that drew Tsuna's attention the most, and he patiently (impatiently) waited for his mother to finish reading before snatching it out of her hands and letting his eyes roam over the passage. He couldn't believe it at first. For a moment there he wondered if he had somehow read the kanji wrong, but his list of memorized kanji was his best asset, the best in his entire class. He _couldn't_ have been wrong.

So _why_ did the stupid characters say that Hibari-san had gotten kidnapped and killed seven people in one night?

(Belatedly he noticed that the date listed corresponded with the date of his Feeling.)

"Oh, my." Nana spoke first, her voice thin and breathy. "That poor, poor boy."

Tsuna merely stared at the document in his hands. He felt _wrong_ just to hold the thing, just to have read it over. This was… This was _personal_. Did Hibari-san know about this? Tsuna couldn't imagine his friend ever allowing this to pass. He threw the thing on the table like it had bitten him and dashed back up the stairs, not heeding his mother's astonished calls.

Everyone in the neighborhood, everyone in the entirety of Namimori probably knew about this by now. Why? What purpose would this serve? Other people could care less about the life in that story. They didn't know Hibari-san. They didn't know Kisuke-san. Oh, sure, they might care for the the fact that their Chief of Police had died, or the fact that some boy was kidnapped, but that was it. That was what his head told him.

**Hibari-san is really, really sad right now, you know. He's crying on the inside.**

_Shut up_, he hissed to himself. _How would you know?_ Sometimes when the voice got too loud for him to think, he had to actually _yell_ at it. Usually the voice listened, but now…

It. Was. So. Loudloudloud! Agh! Tsuna ran back to his work desk and yanked out the set of headphones and the music player that his father had bought for him a while back. He harshly slammed the headphones over his ears and powered the machine on.

Music. His mother often commented that she could hear the noise from a few feet away, but this was the only volume that truly drowned out his thoughts. Tsuna collapsed on his bed, tired and boneless. That was his Voice, all right. Only it could cause him such misery so early in the morning.

Usually Tsuna listened to the Voice. Usually, the Voice made sense and got him out of trouble more often than not. But this time the voice sounded cruel and detached, like it didn't really care about Hibari-san. Of course he cared! He couldn't stand listening to it blandly tell him what was going on or Hibari-san's emotions! The Voice always broke though lies and secrets and masks built up by other people, and, and, and—

Tsuna hated it!

Luckily for him, today fell upon the weekend, so he didn't have any school. Unluckily for him, Tsutomu-sensei had dumped so much homework on his class that Tsuna didn't really have time for anything else.

But. If there was anything that the boy had to do, it was visit Hibari-san's house. By now, that twisting feeling in his gut—

—**Intuition**, the Voice sang while Tsuna pulled off his headphones and glared at them. Ugh. How was it possible for a voice inside his head to get even louder?—

—tugged on his insides so harshly that he felt physically nauseous. Yeah. He had to go. Like, right now.

Yet, the six-year-old could only roll over on his bed to miserably stare at his ceiling. A pounding sparked at the back of his head (his occipital lobe, Hibari-san once mentioned in passing, throwing a pebble at him) and spread to his temples. This always happened whenever he tried to ignore the Voice, but it seemed that this time he could neither ignore nor avoid the pain.

(Should he just give up? He didn't like the sound of that.)

Aaah. Tsuna's stomach growled, and he feebly, mechanically flopped off of the bed, making his way back down to where his Mama still sat, the woman now reading over the other articles. He frowned—because, well, he really wanted to burn the newspaper into ash—and grabbed a slice of toast from the table, running out of the door on his short, young feet. His Mama yelped in surprise, asking him where he was going, but he just grunted back something about Hibari-san and that was that.

("No, honey," Iemitsu assured her later, in the middle of a mission where blood speckled his collar and he really shouldn't be doing this, "our little Tsuna-fish isn't going through a rebellious stage. He's just maturing!" And he hung up before the next gunshot could thunder down the line.)

Hibari-san's house sat in the middle of Namimori, surprisingly close to Namimori Middle. Usually the distance between the dark-haired boy's house and Tsuna's home required Tsuna to spend at least five minutes of running and ten minutes of walking, but this time he closed the space in only eight minutes of sprinting. Sure, his lungs felt like hot airbags in his chest, but at least he'd made it, right?

The first thing he noticed was that the shoji door, which just yesterday lied in the overgrown grass, now perched in its correct place in the doorway. The brunet stared at it as a surge of hope and joy flared through his body. Hibari-san was back! He pushed his lead-filled feet forward and down the cobbled steps, past the shishi-odoshi and pond to reach the door, heaving it aside as he yelled loudly.

"Hibari—"

**He's not here.**

"—-san?" Uncomprehendingly, Tsuna blinked and took in the layers of dust on the floor, disturbed by tiny footprints (**He was here, but then he ran out**), as well as the open refrigerator in the kitchen a little whiles in. What had caused Hibari-san to suddenly run out (**escape**) from his house like that? To leave his refrigerator running alone in the darkened room? To fly out so frantically that Tsuna could still see the odd little remnants of a dust cloud in the air?

The Voice whispered something in his ear (or wherever that was, considering it lived inside his head), and Tsuna turned on his heel to chase the ghost of his best friend. Where would he go? Where had he gone? Discrepancies here and there—little things that were different from yesterday, like the crooked tilt to a trampled flower here, and the angle of the open gate there—informed his Voice, and by extension Tsuna, of where to run.

So run he did.

When Tsuna found Hibari-san, the brunet could almost not believe his eyes. The skylark sat by the edge of the road next to the trash station, his arms curled protectively over his knees, his inky black hair shadowing his face. Those shoulders that he had always thought to be so strong, so unyielding, shook with faint, shimmery tremors that his Voice could practically taste in the air. The sight caused Tsuna's stomach to turn.

"Hibari-san?" He whispered hoarsely, worriedly. "Are—Are you okay?"

The Voice sighed. **He's not okay, you idiot.**

_Shut up!_ He shot back.

Hibari-san did not make any acknowledgement that he had heard. Tsuna's heart thudded against his ribcage, and the brunet fidgeted in place before carding a hand through his messy hair and slowly, cautiously striding over to Hibari-san's side. With his back against the wall, Tsuna slid down into a similar position to his friend, close enough that their elbows bumped and their knees met.

Hibari-san jolted slightly, and Tsuna mentally crowed in victory. A reaction, at last!

"…Herbivore?" Hibari-san didn't lift his head or move his arms from his legs at all, but inched away from the warm skin of Tsuna's bare arms.

(Ah? He called him a herbivore.)

Tsuna pressed against the elder boy in a reprimand for shifting. "Un. It's me."

They sat quietly side-by-side, and Tsuna squinted up at the sky. Gray clouds condensed into one, thick and ominous in the would-be morning, and a gust pushed by. He shivered.

"Are you cold?"

Halting the movement of his palms over his upper arms, Tsuna tilted his head in Hibari-san's direction. "Are you?" He asked instead.

And Hibari-san huffed, because Hibari-san _hated_ it when someone answered with a question of their own. Taking this reaction as another victory, Tsuna smiled then yelped and swerved out of the way of a particularly nasty elbow jab.

"Don't do that, Hibari-san!" He wailed, having bumped his already abused head on the coarse, cement wall behind them. "Ow!"

**That's barely anything worse than one of his love taps**,the Voice snorted.** You've gotten weak in his absence. **

Tsuna sniffled. _I can't help it! I haven't been hit in a long time!_

**It's only been one month. Not only have you gotten weak, you've gotten complacent—have you even gotten any more research in on the Vongola?**

_I—How could I have researched when Hibari-san was missi—_

"…Ah. Sorry."

Both Tsuna and the Voice stopped in their mental tracks.

**Hibari-san just apologized**, came the dazed tone of the Voice.

Eyes as wide as his Tou-chan's sake bowls, Tsuna gaped at the boy by his side. _But Hibari-san _never_ apologizes!_

**Something… Something's really wrong here. I can hear his soul crying from here. **

_That… That doesn't even make any sense, _Tsuna replied nervously, hands hovering over Hibari-san's shoulder._ Now shut up._

"Hibari-san." Brows furrowed, Tsuna let his hands drop before pushing forward and grabbing the skylark's forearm. There was little to no resistance, a fact that made uneasiness course through his core. **Breathe, Tsuna, take a deep breath.** "I… I know what happened. You, uh," he stammered, "you don't have to talk to me about anything. I just want you to know that I-I'm here f-for you. O-Okay?"

The shaking stopped.

Now that Tsuna could see his face, Hibari-san looked terrible. No, red did not rim his eyes; tears did not flow down his cheeks; he hardly even looked sad. But if there was anything the Voice was useful for, it was that this other part of Tsuna knew everything about human body language. Hibari-san's body hunched in on itself even as Tsuna pried that arm free, and while the boy's face remained blank, a lack of emotion could be an emotion in and of itself.

Tsuna knew, though, without his Voice's help, that the dull, dark sheen in his best friend's gray eyes—

(a gray that matched the lonely, dark and oppressive cloud above)

—meant that he wouldn't (_couldn't_) cry anymore. That he couldn't (**wouldn't**) admit to a weakness that wasn't a weakness at all. Not really.

That just because he refused to show it, Hibari-san really was just _sad_ and _tired_ and _scared_ and most of all, _**lonely**_.

"I know that, Tsu-kun."

**That means 'thank you,' in Hibarinese**, Tsuna's Voice drawled, though with a lighter tone now that it (he) knew that Hibari-san would be fine.

The younger of the two giggled, despite being told several times by his parents that big boys simply did not giggle. But this was a special occasion, and Tsuna never felt like a big boy when in Hibari-san's presence anyway.

After all, considered Tsuna brightly, Hibari-san had called him Tsu-kun, and not Herbivore.

**{KHR27KHR}**

When Tsuna looked out of his bedroom window the next morning, he grinned and waved down at his somewhat-frightening best friend as the skylark went about his business, pummeling a couple of delinquents into the ground.

As he hummed, smiling at the early morning vermillion sky dotted with thick and fluffy clouds, for some reason he got the feeling that he shouldn't be taking such pleasure in hearing those screams.

But when he caught Hibari-san waving back lazily, he found that he really didn't care.

.

.

.

**A/N: So, happy chapter! Ish. Isn't Tsuna just the most adorably (I hesitate to say weak, but he really is harmless) fluffy thing there is?**

**You guys have been so mad at me! Ahaha, it warms my soul. I think I got an average of eight or so in the Hate-O-Meter. Ah, so much cursing! (Makes me curious as to what you guys really said, haha.)**

**Also, I really should have mentioned how Tsuna found out about the Vongola in the first place, but I never really found a place to fit it in! Oh, silly, silly, teawithmochi. Let's just say that when Vongola Nono visited last year, Tsuna's Hyper Intuition flared up, and whenever he looked at the old man, he always thought of clams. And that he could smell gunpowder and blood on Iemitsu when he visited at the airport. A bit far-fetched, but my take on Hyper Intuition is kinda like how Sherlock lives—he observes everything around him and takes it all in, connecting what every piece of the scenery means to what actually happened. It's cool like that. (In other words, what Tsuna hears but doesn't listen is what Tsunayoshi listens and understands.)**

**EDIT BECAUSE I JUST REALIZED HOW STUPID I AM FOR FORGETTING: "Aaaah, I knew I forgot to mention something! Actually, because of Kyouya's unintentional character development, and because Tsuna actually knows about the mafia (his Hyper Intuition is crazily developed in this AU, if you hadn't guessed, haha) and because he's not really afraid of the chihuahua, Nono didn't really see a reason for sealing him. Since, well, he's balanced. Instead of bursting out into flames, instead his Hyper Intuition caused his flames to gain sentience." Basically, this is what I wrote to the lovely wolfzero7 when he/she asked about Nono sealing Tsuna's flames. Whoops.**

**Besides, Kyouya doesn't know everything about Tsuna! I mean, if I wanted to actually write about Tsuna, I would have just made Man!Tea become Tsuna. But there's so many of those already, and I don't think Man!Tea would have been very happy with that, haha.**

**Short chapter is short and long chapter is long, but that's an interlude for ya. Next chapter we get back to Kyouya!**

**/hums a noiseless tune. Leave a review of PM if you liked this chapter, please! They aren't my motivation, since I'll continue to write without them since I'm not an immature brat, but they do make me feel happy. (And by extension, Kyouya feels happy as well.)**

**QUESTION: Why do you guys think Kyouya was curled up near the trash station? It has to do with the refrigerator!**


	10. Chapter 10

Do As You Like Chapter Ten

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own KHR! Wait, did I forget to do this last chapter? Ah, fuck, this is fanfiction. Whatever. (What the hell am I doing with my life?)**

**{KHR18KHR}**

It wasn't that I had forgotten anything, or moved on in the days following my encounter with Tsuna. For the most part I continued on as I had done so before that fateful day. But now, I no longer lived as if in a daze, passing my days like a ghost.

Like a weakling.

On introspective days when the sky brought an onslaught of snow and slush down on us mortals, I took to haunting the calligraphy room where my mother and I had held the majority of our lessons. Oh, sure, we had also had ikebana, but even should I have any more attachment to the place, the flowers within had all withered away, untouched my by my mother's touch for too long. It was in the calligraphy room where I learned to read, and where I learned to write with an expert handle on the fine wooden brush that rested in my hands more often than not. There, I felt at peace.

On other days, the days where my body thrummed with unused and neglected energy, I ran out of the house in search of prey. I hadn't noticed it during my hospital stint, but the act of killing—the feeling of exact relief and bloodlust—had left me with an unshakable urge to inflict pain more than before. It was odd. One moment I would sip at my tea, and the next my mouth flared up in such pain that I could barely rush outside fast enough. During these episodes, I always hunted for people to beat up—dissenters to bite to death. It seemed that in my absence, a couple of idiots had decided that now that the Dojinkai-gumi no longer existed in the mortal realm, they could do as they pleased.

Within the first week alone, I took down three fledgling yakuza groups. Most of my success could be attributed to my size and stealth; Nika would have laughed at this point and called me a ninja. But whatever I was called, whatever name people had saddled me with, I couldn't really care less about. Those days I kept on constant patrol. It also made sense that on those occasions, I was never sad or unhappy. Just content.

I missed my parents—I still do. There was a saying that Nika had taken to throwing out a lot in the weeks preceding my death: that you only knew what you had until it was gone. How stupid of me, though. I had already lost everything before; my life, my friend, my family, my esteem. Yet even now I can't comprehend how I had taken for granted what life had gifted me in this second existence. It baffled and, dare I say it, humiliated me.

One would think that after losing your parents once, losing another pair wouldn't feel as bad. That was a lie. It didn't feel any easier.

If anything, I felt like shit.

Sighing softly to myself, I brought my leg down with a loud cracking noise. The delinquent of whose arm I had snapped screamed in agony as I stepped away from his partner's next blow. The knife sliced cleanly beside my ear—only three centimeters away, in fact—and I smirked before ducking under his arm, slipping into his personal space, and elbowing him in the fifth rib. The teen—he didn't seem like the delinquent type, but then again half of the delinquents that I punished only found themselves there by mistake—sucked in a breath as I jabbed his sternum.

With a satisfied gleam in my eye, I watched the truants writhe on the ground. My hands immediately flew to a scratched phone on the ground, and I punched in 119 to tell the cops about a couple of (ah, some fresh identifying tattoos) Tomoezaki-gumi members in a back alley somewhere. They'd find them.

For the first time in a long while, life was getting back to normal.

Or, well, as normal as things got when everyone feared you.

**{KHR18KHR}**

"You can't keep doing this, Kyouya-kun." My brow quirked at the man standing in my doorway. Wase-hakase frowned at me and crossed his arms.

Remaining nonchalant, I pulled the first-aid kit out from the pantry. Seeing as these days I came to use it more often than not, the contents of the box were sparse. Even so, I unearthed a roll of bandages. "Doing what?" I wrapped the bandages around my bicep even as I reached for a band-aid to peel and stick on my cheek. Freaking Neanderthals and their lucky shots.

"That!" The doctor exclaimed, exasperated. "Running out and getting into fights!"

Oh, that. _Boring_. "I've been doing this since I was six," I protracted, waving my hand. "I have a reputation around here."

"Oh? What kind?"

"Of secretly being a demon." Rising to my feet, I patted my body for any areas I might have missed; it wouldn't do to overlook a little nick and get it infected. Finding nothing, I nodded resolutely. "I'm a Hibari," I continued, "and Hibari uphold the peace in Namimori."

That had been my father's job. _Of course_ I'd taken over his mantle.

I'd had enough of my _worthless_ wallowing.

"'Uphold the peace?' You're running about randomly, attacking people the moment you see them doing wrong!"

My reply came quick and sarcastically as I grabbed a cup from the cupboard. "You're telling me that you want criminals running loose in this town?"

"No!" The man sighed. His thin fingers rubbed at his temples. "But what you're doing isn't right, Kyouya-kun. It's illegal to randomly attack someone!"

"I know it is," I said with a negligent scoff. "I'm the son of the Chief of Police. I know my laws in and out. The thing is, the Hibari clan is exempt."

Wase-hakase sputtered inelegantly, gawking at me. "Exempt?" What does that even mean? He conveyed through his incredulous expression.

It meant exactly what the word meant; the laws of Namimori did not apply to the Hibari clan, of which now consisted of only me.

(I put a pot of water on the stove and replaced the first-aid kit in order to get my thoughts back on track.)

After so many generations, of course my family owned everything. The land that people lived on had once belonged to my family, and none could sell their property without first alerting the head of the clan. The hospital, as mentioned before, belonged to my family. The shopping districts, the parks, the zoos, amusement parks, everything—I owned at least some part of everything going on in my town. If anyone dared to oppose a Hibari, well, the town would be shut down before anyone could warn the idiot not to do so.

It had never been an overly possessive thought when I claimed that Namimori was _mine_.

So I told him, and the doctor stared at me before nodding in acceptance. "Alright," he admitted after whistling lowly. "But stop getting hurt."

I would if I could, I thought to myself. That way no one needed to protect me. I grunted in his direction and left him in the kitchen to deal with the tea I no longer wished to drink. I was tired.

"I'm going to take a nap."

**{KHR18KHR}**

Naps are wonderful. Have I ever mentioned how much I love naps? Naturally, I slept a lot—it probably had something to due with low blood pressure or something, but I honestly didn't care. All I did care about was reaching my futon before I conked out.

And then I started dreaming.

Rather interestingly enough, I wasn't the type of person to dream. During REM sleep—the stage in which dreams occurred—I didn't dream at all. Perhaps it was due to my genetics or just how I thought, but dreams were uncommon for me. Fact: I could barely remember my last dream. Therefore, the moment my mind slipped away like a rubber band snapping back into itself, I noticed immediately that I was dreaming.

I stood on the roof, body fluid and ready to jump. My bare feet pressed against the dynamic tiles, and I glanced up at the sky. The air blew past me gently, lifting my hair, and my lungs inhaled a bracing, winter breeze. The sky above reflected orange light, not the robin's egg blue that didn't quite feel so right anymore, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky.

I saw no sun; no fog; no weather apart from the ever-encompassing sky. Like a puppet, my body moved, and I leapt from my precipice as if gravity had no hold on me.

Ah.

Flying, I reflected, was an odd sensation. Refreshing. Wings sprouted from my back in a flurry of sharp feathers, and I let a startled breath pass through my lips before throwing back my head and laughing loudly. The action felt so natural, so enriching— like I had nothing to tie me to the earth, and nothing to drag me down. I was as free as a bird, I realized at that moment. As free as a drifting cloud.

I was a Hibari—a Skylark, and no could chain me. No one could ever force me against my will. Here, a sureness pooled in my stomach, as well as my chest.

So long as I was free, I would do as I liked.

But.

My wings chose that moment to dissolve into mist, and my world melted into another setting; no longer did I fly, and now I sat at my kitchen table.

For a moment I could only stare at the grain of the wood, feeling a numb sensation creep up my arms from the tips of my fingers. What had happened? Where had my wings gone? Where was my _freedom?_

My body, like before, moved against my will, first standing and then turning around and advancing toward the counter, then the stove before backtracking and sitting back down. My dream-self stared at something that didn't exist before his stomach growled, and I felt my eyes shrink into pinpricks of awareness. I could only curse before my hand grasped the handle to the refrigerator _(no, don't tell me nononono)_ and _pulled_.

Now, I had only one true fear, so it made little to no sense to others as to why I felt such trepidation opening the refrigerator. Yet my mind went blank. My heart clopped in my chest. It was silly, really. And bizarre. Nothing made sense as I peered at the contents.

…In the machine sat a box of sushi.

It was the same image from the day Tsuna found me last week. A noisome, putrid scent hit my nose, and my arms trembled at the sight of rotting meat. I took a step back, just gaping at the month-old fish, and found it hard to breathe as the same thoughts as before swirled around in my mind.

Oh. This was from the night that Kisuke—

—and it had been for Tsubame, oh Kami-sama—

—shit, is that what Kisuke looks like now, peeling and rotten and _deaddeaddeaddead_—

I slammed the door shut. Inhaled. Choked.

And woke up. I couldn't quite remember what the dream had been about, but I had an inkling. I shoved that inkling aside.

The following day, I went back to school. Point blank, I cornered the principal (who, ungainly, had ogled my sudden appearance) and demanded an aptitude test.

No more stress, I decided. If even the thought of something (Hmm? What _was_ it again?) caused such terrible emotions to surge out of me, I rationalized that an environment of snot-nosed brats would only make me more susceptible to ire. Ire led to frustration. Frustration led to an easily spooked state.

And I did _not_ need to be incensed at this point.

(It made me susceptible to harming those I wished no harm to.)

So.

How often do you get recurring dreams? I pondered on the question as, for the third time in three nights, I bolted awake and flung my covers back. A sigh perched at the tip of my tongue, ready and yet unwilling, and I bored holes into the wall before getting up and walking out of my room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. This was routine: wake up, run out, check the fridge. It vexed me how I had to physically check that no of something sat in the machine; that I wouldn't think about That Day.

(There was that inkling again, but it was stupid—I wasn't afraid of _sushi_ of all things!)

It pissed my off so much I wanted to, I don't know,_ scream_ sometimes, but during the daytime I calmed enough to truly deliberate on my mental health and work to fix it. It was times like these that I appreciated having a therapy bunny by my side. Tsuna rarely let me out of his sight whenever he could, even if that meant stalking me on my patrols.

The action was endearing, if a tad creepy. I tried to perceive it as the former more than the latter, despite what common sense dictated.

And so, as the days wore on, the weeks dragged by, and my results for my aptitude test came back months later, I could attest to some semblance of normalcy after the events of my seventh year of (re) life. My eighth birthday passed with fairly little fanfare, and on that day I simply sat under the shade of the raining sakura trees, trying not to focus too much on the space my parents used to occupy. Tsuna clung to me like an overly determined leech for those two hours that I was there, smiling and laughing with me every chance that he could. Fon hadn't come; by this point, I had already lost all faith in him.

"_H-Hibari-san, happy birthday!" Cried Tsuna enthusiastically, ambushing me just as I stepped out of my gate. I twitched briefly at his appearance before relaxing and poking his cheek. "Ah, Hibawi-san, this ish whewe you'ah s'posed to shay 'tanks sho' mush, Chu-kun!'"_

_Snorting, I began walking in the direction of the police station where I usually matched up my patrol route with the officers'. It never went well, after all, when they got involved with my beatings. That said, the new Chief of Police tended to treat me like a kid even when he spooked at the sight of me, always whining about and complaining of my 'brutish and bestial manner of apprehending criminals.'_

_Hah. Like I cared. He could go jump in a ditch._

"'_Tanks show mush?' That's what you want me to say, 'Chu-kun?'" I identified a rolling of the eyes behind me and nudged his shoulder. "It's just one day out of three hundred and sixty-five. What makes it any more special than the others?"_

_Tsuna looked scandalized. "It's your birthday, Hibari-san! O-Of course it's special!"_

_Huh._

_He reminded me of Kisuke at that moment, since it was always Kisuke who planned the sakura viewing, and Kisuke who prepared the extravagant feasts for dinner, and Kisuke who always showered me with the same amount of cherishing as the other days but never failed to make me feel special for that one occasion. A melancholy struck me as I realized that I would never have another birthday with him again. _

_Thoroughly shoving that notice aside, I tilted my head. "Well, if it's so special, do you have anything planned for today? I definitely don't." The date hadn't escaped my notice, but I could hardly do anything when I had no motivation to celebrate it. _

_Apparently, Tsuna had other notions. Swaggering triumphantly, the six-year-old answered, "I got it allllll planned out! All by myself! We're gonna go watch the sakura trees, and then we're gonna go to that super ultra fancy restaurant that you like—Mama helped me book it! And after that, we're, um, we're gonna go someplace awesome that I found!"_

"_Someplace awesome," I deadpanned, half-appalled and half-amused by his diction. "I take it that's a surprise?"_

"_Yup!"_

_I paused. "…You do know that I still need to patrol." Smirking wryly at his dumbfounded—now shocked—mien, I flicked his forehead._

"_Ow!" He squeaked. "But _Hibari-san_! It's your _birthday_! You don't need to patrol!"_

_Wryly I repeated the rhetorical question that I had asked Wase-hakase all those months ago. "Do you really want criminals running loose in this town? Look, Tsu-kun, it's my job. Ever since I started working with the police, crime rate has dropped to an all-time low. If I suddenly stop, those buffoons will think they suddenly own the place."_

_That, I definitely wanted to avoid. I'd literally had enough of freaking yakuza groups._

_(They'd taken everything away from me and left nothing behind—)_

"_No," muttered Tsuna dejectedly, rubbing his head. His thoughts seemed to teeter back and forth, and I wondered if he was conversing with his other half—the one he called his Voice. It was intuition, I knew, but Tsuna liked to think it was more than that. "Aww," he sighed at last, "my Voice says that I'll have to cut out the restaurant dinner if we wanna let you finish your patrols."_

"_Tsunayoshi said so?" I curiously murmured in turn, crossing a street. Childishly, Tsuna stepped only on the white lines, hopping from one to the other. "But you made reservations."_

"_Yeah," he huffed. "I guess I'll hafta c-cancel them, then. I wanna watch the sakura with you and go to the awesome place, after all."_

_I hummed contemplatively, turning at a corner and spotting a few chain-smoking teenagers huddled up in an alleyway. High school drop-outs, I gathered from their ages. Or truants. My teeth sparked at the sight, but I was talking with Tsuna, and I wasn't one to punish people for not causing disturbances._

_But. If any one of them decided to be a menace to society, I knew exactly what to do with them. With the promise of a future punishment in mind, I smiled at Tsuna. The idea alone seemed to kill the pain down to its default state of an ever-present burn._

"_I think I can cut a few corners on this patrol," I allowed, looking up at the blue sky. My lips twitched when he gasped and looked over at me. _

_"Really?"_

_"Hmm. You went to all the trouble, after all. I think I can finish around noon. Sakura viewing then?"_

_"Un! Definitely!"_

_As promised, I finished early that day and met up with the boy by the sakura trees. He'd told me to come dressed in a traditional kimono, so when I got there, it wasn't a surprise to see him wearing the same. He beamed at me, hurrying over (tripping in the process) and grabbing my arm. _

_While the attire wasn't a shock, the absence of Nana was. Odd. Was it me, or did I never see her anymore?_

_"Where is Nana-san?" I asked him, frowning slightly. _

_Tsuna perked up and cocked his head to the side. "Mama's letting us do our own stuff. Um, why do you ask, Hibari-san?"_

_"No, I just figured that since she helped you with the reservations and all…" My voice trailed off awkwardly. Um. "No, never mind."_

_Tsuna made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. "Mama's out with Tou-chan. He came back last night, so, uh, she's not here," he said lamely. "Um. The flowers are pretty, aren't they?"_

"The flowers are beautiful, aren't they, Kyouya?"

_I blinked as a petal flew between my eyes, and reflexively snatched it between my index and middle finger. A soft, silky texture brushed against my skin. The plant reflected a somewhat iridescent sheen—odd, all things considered, since I was pretty sure that the cherry trees of my… old life didn't look like anything of the sort. _

_"They are," I softly uttered, letting the petal fall from my fingers. "Hey, Tsu-kun. Try to catch a petal."_

_"Huh?"_

_"It's a spring tradition in my family," I spontaneously explained. "Since it's the fifth of May, if you catch five in a row it means you'll be blessed in life. Even better if you do it five years consecutively."_

_"Heeeh, really? Okay!" He chirped, and for the next twenty minutes I got a front row seat of him chasing after the fickle little things, watching him trip and roll around in the fallen petals so often that by the time we left the area and got to the restaurants, hundreds of petals lay scattered in his thick hair. _

_The entire time I couldn't stop laughing at him. I didn't stop even when we ate, merely laughing harder as my (only) friend struggled to eat this or do that. My body felt lighter than before, as if I floated in the sky, untouched by any mortal struggle. When he got his finger stuck in the ramune bottle that had specially been provided for him, I nearly choked on my meal, what with the mirth that streamed out of my throat. _

_I was happy. Happier. The happiest since I was seven. _

_And then he brought me to the "awesome place."_

_"I, uh, wanna get credit for this, but Tsunayoshi came up with it!" Tsuna burbled, shyly not meeting my eyes and instead looking at the sign at the top of the shop. I slowly turned to him, feeling my expression fall blank even as confusion registered. _

"_Tsu-kun… This is an armory."_

_"Huh? Um, yeah…?"_

_I turned back to the door to the shop. "Tsunayoshi wanted to take me to an _armory_?"_

_Tsuna stammered, fiddling his hands. "W-Well, he says your hands are always covered in bruises and b-bandages these days, so, uh, we figured that if you—I mean, you told me you wanted a weapon! And, and, well, here we are!"_

_Owlishly, I stared at him. _

_He winced. "Uh, I, if you don't wanna get one then, I'll just, um."_

_Huh. I wondered how much thought he had put into this, because wow. Normal eight-year-olds didn't want potentially deadly weapons for their birthday. Then again, I wasn't really eight. _

"…_Thanks," I said at last, a smile crinkling my eyes just so. Tsuna blinked and scratched his head._

"_Yeah, okay, sorry—eh? Did Hibari-san just—"_

_My hand latched onto his and yanked us forward. "Let's go get some weapons!"_

_I honestly should not have sounded so childish at that moment. _

_Then again, this was my idea of a toyshop, and I was going to milk it for all it was forth. _

**{KHR18KHR}**

So. I got a weapon.

"And if you use this equation here, then you can find the domain of this graph here—"

I gripped the smooth, shiny handles of my tonfa pair, marveling at the weight that sat in my palms. The teacher—I paid no attention to his droning—detailed the finer points to calculus that I honestly could care less about. Funny how mathematics used to be so hard for me; now, the information slipped over me like a hat that I'd just decided to take off for a while.

So. High school. Again. One might wonder why on earth an eight-year-old could possibly be in secondary education. The answer itself was dubiously simple: my aptitude test said so.

Okay, rewind. Back when I didn't want to deal with the shit that the majority of elementary kids crapped up daily, I demanded an aptitude test from the headmaster. Long story short, everyone was baffled when my results came back, explaining about how I pretty much knew everything that a university freshman pretty much needed to know.

(Duh. I'd been eighteen, ready to go to college and experience life like it had meant to be lived before I—)

Hibari Kyouya was no idiot, and everyone knew that. But there was an issue with that: did anyone really want a (n at that time) seven-year-old in college? Especially just after he'd been oh-so traumatized by men around the age of college seniors? Oh, the horror, the poor boy would be so overwhelmed!

What a joke. I scoffed as the teacher called on someone to answer a question on the board, burying my head in my arms. The tables were surprisingly comfortable—just the right angle to lean on—and the school gakuran acted as a relatively warm blanket. Basically, since no one wanted me in college lest I swear not to kill several people (why they thought I would do so left me oddly insulted) they figured that I'd be okay with high schoolers. Wonderful.

Not. But that was mainly my fault. At the very least, I reasoned, dumbasses didn't surround me anymore.

As the teacher sighed and called on someone else to work out the problem, I figured that perhaps I had spoken too soon. Ah well. Enviously watching the clouds drift by from my window seat, I felt my eyes fall to half-mast. Honestly, my schedule hadn't changed much; I still skipped classes and took naps in the reception room that I had vacated with a quick threat and snarl that everyone made sure to take to heart (tch, herbivores). Unfortunately, where high school lacked tactless brats (still wasn't too sure about that, but take what you will) it bubbled with drama.

Yes, drama. I'd had enough of that crap already. Yet there never seemed to be a shortage of bullying or affairs, or sordid love triangles that I had rather not wanted to know about. Too bad Tsuna wasn't there; I bet his very presence could melt the entire school.

(Not that he could make me melt, hn, _what?_)

But back to my tonfa. They were a full-sized pair, meant to trail three centimeters at the elbow and rest snugly in the palm of one's hand. Yet they were awkward to me, and too long, but useful enough. The one time some idiots decided to be hotshots and beat up a poor, tiny eight-year-old, I reamed them a new one by just swinging the things around. In time I'd learn to use them properly, but for now they served their purpose. Fun fact: blood washed very easily off of stainless steel weapons.

I let my eyes droop further. I wanted to get stronger than before, and to make this town safe.

I had to get stronger in order to take my father's place.

(Those shoes, though, were still too big to fill.)

Perhaps I could get emancipated, I mused. Perhaps, and maybe I could also find a way to contact Fon so that I could beat him into the ground.

**{KHR18KHR}**

Wase-hakase was a decidedly pure and kindhearted person. He fought passionately for what he believed in, rarely ever backed down from a fight, and still kept smiling even after all of the deaths that he had inexplicably witness through all the years. He had my respect for such a scrawny scarecrow that literally had next to zero muscle mass on his body.

But not today. "You what."

He winced. "Ouch. No question mark?"

"You. What," I repeated murderously, glowering in his general direction. I couldn't look at his face.

"This is a good thing!" The man, no, herbivore, no, _plant_ placated, laughing nervously with his hands chest-level in the universal meaning for, 'Oh, hey, I'm sorry, please-don't-hurt-me.'

Too bad I didn't care for body language.

"I refuse to cooperate."

"But Kyouya-kun," whined the plant, doggedly stalking me as I turned on my heel and exited the room only to face white hospital walls. Why, of all days, had Tsuna broken his arm? _Why?_

I crossed my arms petulantly. "Don't call me that."

"But I always call you Kyouya-kun!"

"You can't call me that anymore! You are not _worthy!_" So what if I was childish? I… I was entitled to some immaturity at times, if everyone wanted to treat me like a kid so much!

"Worthy? Kyouya-kun, this isn't—"

"You're not even a _herbivore_ anymore," I lamented, whipping out a tonfa and slamming it across his chest. "You're a _plant_. A bloody _plant_. You can't even call me Hibari-san, that's how pathetic you are!"

"Now, Kyouya-kun, I—fuck! What was that for?!" The… _lichen_ glared at me and rubbed his steadily reddening jaw. The other nurses glared disapprovingly at him for his foul language. I admit, I took some pleasure in this.

My trusty tonfa came back to my side. Ignoring him, I instead said sternly, "Lichen should just be quiet and do their jobs. Not rope young children into guardianships."

The lichen frowned. "What, would you rather someone else entirely get jurisdiction over you?"

Hah. No. "I'm getting emancipated."

"Wha—emancipated?! Kyouya, you can't get emancipated! There's no such thing as emancipation in Namimo—"

"I'm. Getting. Emancipated," I ground out, stopping before Tsuna's door. "I don't care if it's illegal. I don't care if it's impossible. I'm getting emancipated, and you _can't do anything about it_. If I have to blackmail the government, I'll do so. If I have to kill more people, I—!" My fists clenched. No. Calm down. _Shut up._

During my brief fit of indecision, Wase-hakase grabbed my shoulders and spun me around so that he could look me in the eyes. "Kyouya-kun. Look, I know you're not a normal kid. I know you're awfully mature for your age, and that you've killed men before, but…" He sighed. "Look, I don't like hearing you say you'll kill people. I know that you're perfectly capable of doing so; I also know that you're perfectly capable of caring for yourself. But it's been seven months since their deaths. Five months since the funeral. You've said your goodbyes, and now you're alone. _Stop trying to be alone._"

"I." My sentence stopped short. "I'm not alone."

Blue eyes flickering with a disconcerting emotion, the doctor straightened. Removed his hands. "You mean Tsunayoshi-kun, right? That kid? Kyouya-kun, you treat him like a _pet_. Like he's only good so long as he's _useful_."

I looked away from him, my mouth a terse line. "I appreciate him." I hung out with him. I helped him. I was his friend. Right?

(Maybe he's only with me because we're crutches for each other.)

"I'm leaving, Shiya-san." My tone booked no arguments, and I slapped his hands away. "Good day."

"But what about Tsunayoshi-kun? He's right here!" He gestured to the door helplessly. "He's waiting for you!"

Ten feet from where I started, I halted. "Well, that's your fault, isn't it?"

I'm free. I'm doing what I want. I don't need someone to protect me.

(Because if they protect me, they'll—)

.

.

.

**A/N: I really don't like this chapter. I don't. But I had to get it out. Ya know, it was so much easier to write about Tsubame and Kisuke's deaths than Kyouya's 'blah'ing.**

**Fucking damn it, Kyouya, STOP BEING SO ANGSTY. Yeesh. He's a flipping roller coaster. On that note, I have to apologize for all of the indecision on his part. This is in part to my own personality, haha… I don't like to burden people, and it'll take longer than just seven months to get over two deaths. Kyouya's in denial. We pretty much ignore things if we don't like it.**

**That said, Kyouya's going to get better, I **_**promise**_**, and Wase-kun's trying his damn hardest to fix that poor little not-boy. Time passes pretty quickly, I think, when you stop trying to live and instead survive. BUT IT'LL GET BETTER. TSUNA AND WASE-KUN WILL MAKE SURE OF IT, THAT THEY WILL. **

**About the Origins of This Story: I'm not as happy in real life as I am on FFNet. I don't really go, 'haha, that's so nice,' all the time, and I'm not really the nicest person to get along with 'cause I'm really violent. That's why I wanted to see what would happen if I became Kyouya. Didn't know there would be so much angst in this speculation, though. This is all of my headcannons in one about what happened to make a fifteen-year-old boy so bloodthirsty and antisocial. (Also, I like plants. But only if they look nice or taste good. Same thing goes for herbivores.)**

**Hey, I'm not one for spoilers, but here's a hint as to what's in the next chapter. Grass. Wall. Also, another one, but it's not a good thing: Wind.**

**QUESTION: Is there anyone out there who also knows canon!Kyouya's favorite type of sushi? I'm curious. Answer correctly, and if you want me to make Kyouya do something, I'll make it into an omake at the end of the chapter!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Do As You Like Chapter Eleven**

**DISCLAIMER: Psshhh, would Amano Akira have a self-manifested male alter ego? (Oh yeah, I still don't have a beta, so if anyone catches any mistakes, please point them out to me!)**

**{KHR18KHR}**

"_Come here, Kyouya! Come here, boy!" Leo cooed, his amber eyes crinkled in blithe arcs before widening as he yelped loudly. "Ow! __**S**__k__**Rs**__h__**H**__h__**hH**__, he bit me!"_

_I rolled my eyes and swatted his head with my book, a smirk playing at my lips even as my brow furrowed in confusion. Odd; had I heard wrongly, or had that been static? "That's because he's not stupid. Don't treat him like an animal, Leo."_

"_But he's a bunny!" My brother wailed, clutching his throbbing finger to his chest. My eyes softened at his tearing face, and I planted a hand on his smooth brunet head. "Hmph! Last time I'll ever try to play with him!"_

_The chuckle that slipped from my lips felt almost bizarre, almost foreign. What? But didn't I usually laugh? "Here, I'll show you what to do," I advised. His five-year-old hands looked swamped in mine, soft and pudgy where my fingers curled like talons. "You have to be gentle; cautious. He may be a herbivore, but Kyouya has a nasty temper. He's a bit shrewd, so you have to give him respect."_

_Like someone I know, I thought absently. But who?_

_Our hands slowly reached out for the rabbit, and Leo's face lit up like he'd gotten a lifetime's supply of chocolate for his birthday. "That's makes no sense at all, but he's so soft! Ooh, his ears are like marshmallows!"_

"_Don't go trying to eat him now, you hear me?" I mock-lectured, teasing him and helping the boy cradle the animal so that its nose brushed his collarbone. "He's poisonous."_

"_What? Really?" He gaped at the rabbit before catching sight of my grin, and pouted adorably (weakly). "Man, __**sK**__r__**sH**__h__**H**__h__**h**__H, you always hafta tease me!"_

_(Wait, what was that?)_

"_I can't help it," I chortled, ruffling his hair. "It's because I love you."_

"_Wow, sap!"_

"_Geez, you cheeky brat, get back here!"_

_I leapt to my feet and chased after him, catching him in my grasp before I—_

—blinked up at the ceiling, one hand coming up to shade my eyes before dropping by my side. Huh. When was the last time I had had a dream about my past life? Nearly a decade had passed since my death, I noted belatedly. Leo would be thirteen now.

I wondered how everyone else was. Nika would be twenty-six, an unaffiliated abstract artist. Had she given up or succeeded? My parents probably still ran their bakery. Did anyone remember me like I remembered them? Like they had all been frozen in time? I felt somewhat bitter at the thought, because they had all probably moved on in life whereas I was stuck reliving mine.

As I sat up, I was struck by how tiny my body now felt compared to the one in my dream. I didn't feel wrong, no, but… disoriented. Dizzy. By now, the sun hadn't yet fully risen to its peak, but a fair amount of light streamed through my window. My legs worked like oiled machines, so _different_ compared to my formerly knobby-kneed self, and I set off to do my daily ablutions. Shower. Brush teeth. Throw on some clothes.

Done.

When I walked into the kitchen to make a bento, I halted and glared at the intruder in my home.

"Good morning, Kyouya-kun!"

"…Lichen."

"E-Eh? I'm still Lichen?"

"Get. Out."

Wase-hakase laughed loftily, handing me a cup of tea—chamomile, made in _my_ personal cup, the fuck?—and pulled me over to the entry way. "Well, whatever. Come now, Kyouya-kun, or we'll be late."

I stared at him blankly. "Late for what?" Had I missed something?

"I told you before, Kyouya-kun, you can't get emancipated at this age, so I scheduled an appointment with—"

"You_ didn't_," I hissed. If looks could kill, then Wase-hakase would have died ten times over.

"Well, guess what, I did! So let's get going, Kyouya-kun, or we'll be late!"

"I'm not going with you, you lunatic!"

"Ah, that's not very nice, Kyouya-kun!"

I slammed my cup on the table and pulled my tonfa out from their holsters. Gripping them tightly, feeling gravity pull them toward the ground, I dropped into a ready stance—

(feet shoulder width apart, knees bent, right arm over chest, left ready to strike)

—and glared at him murderously. "Get out of my house, Lichen. I'm not saying it again."

In that moment, as I swung at him, the oddest thing happened. Perhaps I would have missed it had I not been mentally setting him on fire, locking our eyes, but the moment I said those words, something inside of the doctor… shifted. Slid a little, just the slightest bit. In an instant, the blue eyes that I'd seen everyday for all that I had known the man… frosted over.

He looked angry. No, furious. No, not furious, he looked—_cold_. My stance faltered, the metal weapon meeting his block with enough force to break a normal man's bone, and yet nothing happened. No crack. No cry of pain.

_Oh, fuck._

Wait a second—I was Hibari Kyouya! I wasn't afraid of anything! So why, why did his face look so…

_Terrifying?_

And then the moment passed, and Wase-hakase smiled herbivorously again, looking for all the world as if he hadn't just appeared the slightest bit unhinged, the slightest bit deadly. Carnivorous. Feeling the vestiges of adrenaline leave my system (I'd call it fight-or-flight, but then again I could only fight), I gaped at him.

"You," I demanded shakily, raising my other tonfa and pointing it at him, "What was that?"

"Ara? What was what, Kyouya-kun?"

I couldn't move, as if his gaze had paralyzed me, and he took the opportunity to drag me out of the house.

**{KHR18KHR}**

All throughout the process, I couldn't do anything but gaze ahead. I felt unnerved; out of my element. I didn't like it—the feeling grated at my very core, and I shook my head vehemently, rubbing my hands together.

"You," I began disconcertedly, disbelief seeping into my skin, "You…

"You're a fucking _trap,_" I decided staunchly.

Because he had been driving us back to my house at that moment, the car swerved acutely to the side before righting on the correct path. "I'm sorry, what?" The doctor choked out.

With a suspicious expression on my face, I explained, "You're not a herbivore, no matter how plant-like you act. You're a—a bloodthirsty _carnivore!_" My marvel could be heard in my tone. He was a carnivore! This guy, the one who laughed at his own stupid jokes, who always got beat up by me, who always whined about my behavior, was a carnivore.

All right, I decided. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Wase-hakase looked disturbed as he pushed some black fringe from his face to tuck it neatly behind his ear. "You know, sometimes I wonder how your brain works."

_My_ brain? I wanted to retort, How about _your_ brain? "You're not my psychiatrist," I settled on saying instead. I snorted.

"Oi, just because I don't specialize in psychology doesn't mean I don't know anything about it," he groused, pouting slightly and squinting at me. Ugh; he was already a grown man, so why did he act so childishly?

Growing uncomfortable with the underlying scrutiny he gave me, I nudged him with the end of my tonfa. "Eyes on the road, Hakase."

I had no idea how he'd convinced the government officials that it'd be okay for him to claim custody over me, but since the "adults" had locked me out of the room while they went over the technical jargon, I'd probably never know. Not even ten minutes had passed when the doctor had waltzed back out, whistled a jaunty tune as he grabbed me, and manhandled me back into the car.

…For some reason that sentence doesn't sound right.

Anyway, no matter what I said—death threats, blackmail, death threats involving blackmail —the social workers wouldn't budge. They just watched fearfully as the man to my left (who, at this point, was making funny faces at the other drivers like the idiot he was) grinned at them sharply.

(I give up. I'm pretty sure there's a conspiracy going on here, but I'm too tired to figure it out.)

"I don't like you," I huffed, kicking the interior of the car. "You're like a fucking puzzle."

"Language, Kyouya-kun," admonished the driver, not stopping to tear his eyes away from the road. Granted, that didn't stop him from releasing a hand to bat at my head, but at least he wasn't a terrible driver.

I ducked away from his reach and smacked him gently (not) with my tonfa. "Don't get uppity with me, Lichen. I don't acknowledge you as my guardian."

"…Yet."

The tiny whimper (hn, but that wasn't _real_, was it?) elicited a smug, pain-free expression on my face.

After that, a brief lapse in the conversation allowed me to turn my head and look out the window so that I could watch the surroundings melt by second by second. The car hummed beneath my fingertips, and I pressed my forehead against the glass panel so that my skin could register the vibrations coursing down from that focal point. It had been so long since I'd ridden in a car—Kisuke and Tsubame had preferred walking as a main mode of transportation—so long that, as I sat there, I felt childish anticipation from just being in the metal deathtrap.

Ah.

Right. I'd died because of a school bus. A wrinkle found its way on my nose as I thought about that. Hibari Kyouya definitely would not have such a stupid death. Not like… Not like…

…What? I blinked and jerked away from the cool glass, one hand reaching up to rub at the cold spot on my skin. Wait a second, why…? From the corner of my eye, I saw Wase-hakase shoot me a curious glance, but ignored it in favor of nervously licking my dry lips. I stared down at my seat-belted lap.

Why couldn't I remember my name? I asked myself the question almost fearfully, shaking my head and pressing my hands to my eyes. The point of the thought wasn't that I particularly wanted to know my name; after all, I had no use for it now. Yet, despite that, I wanted to know. I _had_ to know.

It'd only been eight years. How could I have forgotten my own identity? Myself? If I had forgotten who I was, how much had I forgotten of Leo, or Nika, or anyone else? I'd never been the social butterfly, not like Nika was—

(had been)

—so _why couldn't I remember anything?_

"Kyouya-kun?" A voice called out to me, snapping my mind back to reality. For a moment I blinked owlishly, looking around for the source, before a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I stiffened at the touch.

Oh. It was just Wase-hakase. Immediately stamping down my thoughts, I broke off the thin man's hold. "What?" I grunted, not meeting his eyes. I could already feel the worry in them, and angled my body so that I couldn't see his face.

"Are you okay?" Of _course_ he'd ask that question. _Everyone_ asked that question.

_("Are you okay? Hey, you're not feeling too down, about Leo, are you? Ah, hey, I'm sure if I tell you about Hibari you'll feel all better!"_

"_I'm not sad and _go away,_ Nika. I'm not playing your games today; look, we have midterms tomorrow, and I need to study."_

"_But—but! He's totally cool and awesome and hot and—!"_

"_Fangirling again? Geez, If it makes you stop ranting about hot guys… I guess I was ready to take a break anyway.")_

"I'm fine." Oh, look, a squirrel. I glared at it and willed it to burst into flames. Stupid species… Last time I tried to pet one it tried to bite me. Kisuke, of course, had killed it before its teeth could so much as graze my skin. Hmph, wasn't like it was cute or anything, damn it…

"You don't look fine," the doctor countered dubiously. Way to state the obvious, Sherlock, I mentally snarked. "Kyouya-kun, you can tell me what's on your mind, you know. I'm your guardian now, after all."

"Hn." When in doubt, always grunt. The grunting didn't endear one to most people, but I didn't care much for people anyway.

"Kyouya-kun!" He snapped.

So he couldn't be a herbivore forever, it seemed. Deriving great satisfaction from the bead of annoyance bleed into his tone, I dismissed the doctor. As we neared the Hibari estate, I unclipped my seatbelt and pushed the car door away. The summer afternoon air brushed past me, carding sticky little fingers through my hair. Already I missed the spring breezes that always danced with tiny flower petals in the air. I didn't like summer—the festivals always made it hard to concentrate at night when I went on raids, and everyday was just too hot. Ugh.

"You leaving now?" It was only because I wasn't entirely mannerless (actually, I pretty much was) that I waited for the man to say his farewell. As our eyes met, however, I figured that he didn't want to go, and yet didn't want to say anything either. I broke the silence with a huff.

Like always, I was equal parts blunt and curious. "It's been nearly a year since my parents' deaths," I said with some reluctance. "Why have you decided _now_ to become my guardian? I thought the social workers had given up on me, or passed the case on for fear of traumatizing a foster family."

A beat passed. Then another.

He didn't appear astonished by my question. If anything, Wase-hakase looked resigned. He sighed and, with finality, twisted the keys out of the ignition. "Do you want the truth, or do you want me to lie?"

My eyes narrowed. "If you lie to me, I'll sneak into your apartment and dismember you in the middle of the night."

"Ahaha… Scary, Kyouya." Kyouya? Where was the '-kun'? "Truth it is, then," he began flippantly, also getting out of the car. His wrinkled medical coat billowed in the wind, making him look bigger than he really was. "Hmm. To the first question, it's because the government's been pushing me for quite some time now."

I stayed silent, a suspicion dawning on me.

The doctor continued, moving into the house, and I followed him in stiffly. "You see, there are several families who want to take you in. In fact, there are quite a few that are… related to you on Tsubame-san's side."

I forcefully stilled my hand only three centimeters from my weapon. "You _didn't_." Somehow, the repetition of words should have been comedic. As it stood, I didn't think so. "You… kept me from my family?"

From who? My aunts and uncles? Grandparents? Someone else, more important?

"Not your uncle," he cut in, as if reading my thoughts. "Fon-san, apparently, has other business to attend to. No, he didn't even try to pass on a message. One would think the prince to a Triad would at least try to gain custody over his only nephew after not even attending the funeral of his only little sister, but then again—"

I snarled at him. "If you're trying to rile me up, you're doing a pretty fine job of it."

He laughed again. "Woah, down, boy. No need to get so fiesty!"

I didn't like this part of Wase-hakase. Everything about him was just all the more sardonic, all the more amused. The way he held himself had changed; from slightly hunched to straight-backed; from a slightly lowered head to a neutral, almost arrogant tilt. This man rubbed me the wrong way, but still I merely watched him. Observed his movements.

"Anyway," sighed the doctor, a smile curling his lips, one hand tracing a finger down a picture frame, "The reason why you haven't had contact with the government until now is because I kept them away. I'm a certified pediatrician, by the way, not _just_ a random guy that happens to specialize in lung infections. All I had to do was tell them that you needed some space, and that I'd take care of you until you could decide whether you wanted to meet your family or not. It was so easy."

Blood roared between my ears. My teeth bit down on my lip, and the familiar, sweet taste of copper and iron flooded my mouth. For some reason the feeling of… betrayal withered on the tip of my tongue, and I gripped my tonfa so harshly that my knuckles became white. My throat felt clogged up, dry, and devoid of air.

"It's not betrayal if you never trusted me to begin with," the man assured benignly, calmly, _audaciously_, reaching over to pat my head.

I lunged at him and twisted my wrists, activating a sheath of thorns along the edges of my tonfa. I didn't care that he was stronger than me, that he could probably kill me—I didn't care about any of that. For the second time in my life, I gave into the bloodlust that constantly pooled in my stomach, snarling and kicking and punching and swiping at every part of him that I could.

I had to kill him. I _would_ kill him. Despite these thoughts, however, despite my animalistic behavior, my mind was strangely calm; my gaze barely lingered on anything, and yet—yet I analyzed every second with such astounding clarity I almost couldn't believe it.

A slash caught him across the thigh, unfortunately not a lethal wound, but enough for the _darkshinyredyesyesyes_ blood to pool and splash onto the tatami mats. Wase-hakase's eyes narrowed, and he snapped his hand out, his fingers—

Shit, were those _diamond-tipped claws?_

—harshly cutting a line across my temple. I hissed and twisted my body to elbow his stomach, then dropped to the ground and kick upward, hands bearing my weight, hoping to graze his neck. I didn't even touch him.

"I trusted you!" I roared, futilely wiping away curtain after curtain of blood from my right eye. "You fucking liar, I didn't like you, heck, I might have hated you, but I _respected and trusted_ you!"

"You've only just now noticed, huh?" He huffed with a smirk on his face, dodging swing after swing after swing of my gleaming weapons. Now what they had tasted blood, they wanted more. …Or was that me?

Wase-hakase towered over me, and had both reach and the power to back up his lankiness. I was faster, but depite this, he was craftier. For every attack I succeeded in, several more lanced against my arms. In a split second, he disarmed me, wrenched my hands together, and pushed me face-first onto the ground. I felt his weight settle on my shoulders.

"Get off! Get the fuck off!" I struggled like a caged animal, attempting in vain to get him off of my back. "Stop toying with me! Take me seriously!"

The moment he got off, I was going to _kill him. _

_**I was going to kill him!**_

**{KHR:)KHR}**

Wase calmly observed the boy as he scratched his bloodied cheek. Damn. This kid was a _monster_—he'd seriously injured Wase's leg to the point he would need at least four stitches—and even with such a gushing head wound, the eight-year-old just _wouldn't stay down_. He hummed, propping his chin on his interlaced fingers, the elbows of which resting on his bent knees.

"If you would stop struggling, I'll tell you everything."

"What's there to say?!" Spat Kyouya-kun, his gray eyes full of spite and menace. Ouch. Wase hummed some more and began to stroke his charge's blood-soaked head.

"Stop it! Don't touch me!"

Wase ignored him, feeling around for any other wounds, and deemed Kyouya-kun's head perfectly fine aside from the one temple wound. Okay, he could begin without fear of having to repeat himself due to a concussion.

"The families that I mentioned before aren't really your blood relatives."

Kyouya-kun stopped, but still growled faintly. That was good, though. Progress.

"Your mother was a Triad princess, if you already don't know. She was the daughter of the most influential man in China. Thing is, a couple of months before your birth, that guy died. The Triad shuffled around. Fon, your uncle, declined leadership. That role passed onto your mother."

Wase wanted to be sick just thinking about this. Hibari-san had always been so kind and gentle—when she got her way, that is. "She also declined, by the way. Instead the leader became someone else. Everyone was happy. Look, I don't know much about the Chinese underground aside from the basics, so that's as much as I can tell you about that."

Wase waited for Kyouya-kun's answer. He counted in his head exactly ten seconds before the boy responded.

"Continue." Ah, how curt. Demanding. All Hibari were like that, Wase mused to himself wryly.

"In short," he acquiesced, "upon hearing of the death of both your father and your mother, they wanted to formally induct you into their group. You've made quite the name for yourself, you know. Kyouya-kun, for a kid that's not even a decade old yet, that's pretty damn terrifying."

Aaaand the kid was smirking. Smirking!

…But then the smirk fell away, replaced by a darkly thoughtful look. Wase wasn't sure if he liked that or not.

"Hn." There was the grunt again. Wase rolled his eyes and patted the kid's head with a gaunt hand.

"I just want you to know," he added softly, shifting his left cheek to one palm, "that I care about you, Kyouya-kun. You're a good kid; I don't want you to end up in some shady business doing something you'll hate."

Kyouya-kun scoffed and pinched the doctor's (thankfully) uninjured thigh. Following his rather sharp yelp, the boy asked, no, _demanded_, "What makes you think I'll hate it?"

"Kyouya-kun. You're considered in your lonesome an entire branch of the Namimori police force. Please, correct me if I'm wrong, but your sense of justice and justification really won't meld very well with the Triads."

A pause. "…Hmm. I can live with that answer. But why do you care so much?" A thin length of suspicion lined his words. "You're just a doctor. You're a stranger."

"Kyouya-kun, I've known you for nearly a year now," murmured Wase with patient exasperation. "I think I've at least advanced to an acquaintance after how many times I've been in this house."

"You always sneak in," the boy complained snidely, _tch'ing_ and bucking once before resigning himself to bearing the man on his back. "Not once have I opened the door to invite you inside."

"Good thing I'm not a vampire, then," Wase sniped. "In any case, Hibari-san told me where the key to the gate was before… well. It's not my fault your house is ridiculously easy to break into."

"That shouldn't be the issue here!"

Wase opened his mouth. Closed it. "No," he agreed, "it isn't."

They both halted and fell silent. In the background, Kyouya-kun's clock ticked by with little _click click clicks_ that kind of grated on Wase's nerves, but he didn't comment on it. He'd been whining to get rid of it for the past few months or so—ahaha, subtly of course—but Kyouya-kun was always adamant to keep it, no matter how ugly and annoying they both thought the thing to be.

"You screw up my pace, okay?" Grumbled Kyouya-kun at last, his head pillowed by his thin, wiry arms. Wase rather thought that those arms looked entirely out of place on an eight-year-old body. "See this from my perspective, okay? You're this weird guy that came out of nowhere, someone who'd apparently been caring for my mother for a while, and when she died you decided you wanted to care for me. What the fuck? Didn't you have any ulterior motives? What were they? Money? Connections? But all you did was sneak into my house like a creepy stalker—"

"I do not!" He interjected.

"And you made me tea! Got me breakfast! Nagged about my health! I thought you were pretty okay!" The boy pinched the bridge of his nose. "And now you've suddenly decided to become my guardian after showing me you've lied about being weak all this time, but noooooo, you've been planning this out for forever! I thought you didn't want anything, but now I'm suspicious, damn it! See this this face? I shouldn't be giving a fuck, bit here I am giving two!"

The first thing that Wase wanted to say after that was, 'Oh, Kyouya-kun, you shouldn't curse,' but then again Wase didn't really filter his own profanity either. The second was…

"Oh, you're really betrayed." He'd only been bs'ing that part before; he'd thought the kid hadn't

actually cared—but then again, hadn't Kyouya-kun gotten angry? Angry enough to try to kill him? Shit, he'd messed up, hadn't he?

Tiredly, the only living Hibari carded a hand through his hair. He didn't say anything, but the silence only made Wase feel worse. What could he say now? Oh, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings? I'm sorry I thought you'd be emotionless enough to not care about me? I'm sorry I thought—still think—that I'm doing what's best for you?

What could he say to that face?

"Get off of me."

The air rushed back into his lungs. "Okay," Wase exhaled. Kyouya-kun clambered back onto his feet as swiftly as he could, despite the gushing head wound, and wobbled a bit before steadying. He turned away to locate his tonfa and grip them in his hands before viewing the doctor from the corner of his eye.

"I'm not a brat," the boy intoned at after a brief repose. "Don't sell me short. I'm not angry with you."

"Y-You aren't?"

Those gray eyes narrowed like a cat's, sharpening in their scrutiny. "I take that back. I'm still angry about you lying to me about your strength this entire time, but the guardianship… I'm not happy. But I'm not mad, either."

…Huh. Why? "Why?" Wase slowly stood and clutched at his bleeding leg. The warmth slid past his fingers, and in a few minutes or so, the doctor gathered, he'd have to get some medical aid. Err, well, lest he die.

With how his gaze lingered, Kyouya-kun seemed to have come to the same conclusion about Wase's wound. "You were misguided. You wanted to pro—" Uncharacteristically, he stuttered. "—_Protect_ me. That's not something I should fault you for. In fact, I should say tha…Thaaaaa… Damn it."

Wase stared. Kyouya-kun bristled.

"Are you—?"

"_You understand English. Tell me you understand it, because I'm never saying this again. Thank you._"

With that, the still bleeding, still limping boy sauntered off into the depths of the mansion, head held high.

Wase broke into guffaws upon catching sight of the luminescent brightness of Kyouya-kun's ears.

**{KHR18KHR}**

I take back everything. I hate Wase-hakase so, so much.

"Stop laughing!" I glowered at my door and rubbed my temples. "Shut up!"

Several corridors away in his room, Wase-hakase rolled around like a pig in the mud. Like a mad rabbit. Like a… Like a _braying donkey._ I couldn't see it, but I bet that was what he looked like. He wouldn't. Shut. Up.

"Hibari-sama! Please, let me in! Is that man bothering you?"

How did I get into this mess? This was the doctor's fault, wasn't it? All his fault. All his fault and more—none of mine!

(Actually, it was all my fault, but I wasn't admitting that!)

Like all of the prior incidents, the day had started normally. After a month of Wase-hakase's general eccentricity—the man sang in the shower, praised taiyaki like it was a god, and snuck into the bathing room like a creep—

("Kyouya-kun, you need a check up! You never go to the hospital anymore!"

"That doesn't give you the right to barge into my bathroom!"

"Come on, you have nothing I don't have! And you'd never let me give you a check up if I just ask!"

"That's because you sneak into eight-year-olds' bathrooms while they're naked!")

—I was about ready to claim my adaption to this new lifestyle. Or throw in the towel. Either option worked.

Living with Wase-hakase sort-of-maybe-not-a-little-bit reminded me of living with Kisuke and Tsubame. After so long of living on my own, of rejecting Nana's requests for me to stay over, it felt nice to live with another warm body again. I hadn't know that I could miss such a thing.

But I digress.

_"Kyouya-kun? Can you run to the market and pick up some baking flour? We just ran out!"_

_I stretched inside of the meditation room before sitting up grumpily. "Go get it yourself!" I hollered back. _

_"Can't! I have to watch the hamburg steak, unless you want to have a burnt dinner!"_

_I cursed. He knew how much I lo—ador—_appreciated_ hamburg steaks. "Fine!"_

_Taking my time, I pulled my sandals on and began my trek to the market. The closest market operated about a ten-minute walk from my house, so I could waste a few minutes catching up with rumors and gossip on my walk there. My old footwear padded softly on the bland, gray concrete streets, and I stretched my arms upward, eager to get the kinks out of my system. Wase-hakase wasn't overly energetic or a martial arts enthusiast, but he sure exercise a whole lot for a doctor._

_(Then again, he hadn't always been a doctor, had he?)_

_Birds chirped. I tasted the hot, sticky air, feeling the wind blow past my ankles. I felt a bit nostalgic as I fingered the cuffs of my casual yukata; Tsubame had always favored this one, marveling in its simplicity. The pattern ran vertically down, and the cloth was stained a solid, strong heather. I liked it. The fabric, at the very least, came from high quality cotton._

_Around me, people swept about to and fro, busy with the hustle and bustle of their daily lives. I spotted some elderly women—Tsukino-san and Hayashi-san, I reminded myself—setting up for Tanabata in a week and Obon the week after that. By nighttime I figured that the streets leading up to the shrines would be lit ablaze and awash with lanterns and foxfire. It felt nice to notice these things, considering the frequency at which my… curse would act up. I rarely got to enjoy life anymore, but then again violence was my life._

_How sad, I bet many would say. Boo hoo. Whatever._

_As I rounded a corner, my ears twitched and caught the tail end of a snarl. The words bypassed me, but the intonation did not. I stiffened and almost made a double-take._

_There were still some idiots left within a ten kilometer radius of _my_ home? _This_ close to the Hibari mansion?_

"_Ow! Ow! I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stain your jacket, I d-didn't see you, so I—"_

_I head a foot meet flesh. Young flesh. The shoe had steel toes, and a resounding thump informed my instincts that the instigator was old, but not too old. Adolescent. A teenager._

"_Oho? Delinquents, crowding in my territory?" I advanced into the alleyway, a smirk growing on my lips. When was the last time I had run across some delightful prey during my resting time? Fear and pain always did taste better when not needed, much in the way a snack satisfied even when one wasn't hungry._

_These herbivores were small fries, I noted gleefully, but there were enough to be _delightfully_ satisfying._

"_Shit! It's that Hibari kid!"_

"_Holy fuck, you mean the one that—"_

"_Yeah, you know what, we should just get the fuck out of here—"_

_I jabbed the last one in the gut, barely avoiding giving him too much internal bleeding. After all, I wanted to savor this. Where would I be if he fell unconscious? "And where do you think you're going?"_

_One, two, three… Ten. The first one to have spoken, a high-schooler with thin, spiky hair, jerked back and growled. "Ah, what did you do to Tomozaki?! You little brat!"_

'_Tomozaki' groaned on the ground, and I kicked him for extra measure. My scrutiny swept over the remainders—each and every one of them seemed frozen like a bunch of deer in headlights—and a curl on my face grew into a grin. I circled them languidly, eyes flitting from one (a younger teen, barely a man), to another (older, but foolhardy) to the others in succession (they all towered over the small body curled up against the plaster wall). _

"_Banchou!" Cried the youngest one, worriedly glancing between my predatory form and Spiky Hair. My head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed. Boss? This guy was the one who'd been terrorizing the middle schoolers in my neighborhood?_

_I admit, he didn't look much. I gave him a cursory glance, up and down, before scoffing._

_The leader swelled up in indignation. "What's that look supposed to mean?!"_

_Could he only abuse question marks? _

"_Banchou, I-I'm not too sure about this… He's just a kid, but a-are you sure…?" Stammered the older one. _

"_What can he do?" Blustered Spiky Hair, throwing his subordinates a grin full of bravado. "It's ten against one!"_

_Nine against one, I mentally remarked, And that's not in your favor._

_Sure enough, I struck them all down with minimal movements, cracking elbows inside out and twisting their knees as they fell. I had a certain… Fixation on joints. I couldn't be blamed, though; they were simply so… reversible. After I finished with the final delinquent, my foot digging over his cerebellum and pushing his nose into the pavement, I flicked the blood from my tonfa and stood from my crouch. I no longer felt as slow and lackadaisical as before. Blood flowed through my veins._

"_U-Um," stuttered a voice from behind me, hesitant and shy. I whirled around, about ready to bash the herbivore's head in because _no one sneaks up on Hibari Kyouya unless he wanted his brains on the walls_, before relaxing and twirling the weapons back into a ready position. The boy looked about my physical age, lankiness and knobby knees galore. "Tha-Thank you very mu—"_

_I walked away._

"_Wait! I-I mean, uh…" Damn it, what did he want? I scowled and slowed my gait, not obeying him but showing my attention regardless._

"_What."_

"_I just w-wanted to thank you for saving me and, uh…"_

_My brow inched upward, an unimpressed expression taking over my face. "Don't make assumptions. I wasn't saving you."_

_The boy looked taken aback. He blinked owlishly and readjusted his obnoxious, gigantic, and red eyeglasses. Kami-sama, they made my eyes burn. "Eh?" He so eloquently replied._

_I started walking again._

"_Wait!"_

_Fucking damn it, were we going to do this all day? I still had the flour to pick up._

_The herbivore nervously tousled his thick dark brown hair. It was rather long, I noticed belatedly, and it barely reached his shoulder. Yet the length didn't match his facial structure at all; he had a strong chin and deep jaw. "I, uh, what's your name?"_

_I didn't answer and started walking again._

_His voice began to panic. "Ah, no, wait! They called you Hibari! Can I call you Hibari-sama?"_

…_The fuck?_

"_No."_

"_I was right!" He cheered, COMPLETELY BULLDOZING MY OPINION. "Hibari-sama, how do I become strong like you?"_

_Strong like me? Go insane. Have your parents die. Be burdened with a curse that frays your morals the longer you live. But I said nothing of this. I just wanted the kid to _**go away.**

_The sigh that slid from my lungs felt exceptionally heavy. "Fight for justice," I bullshitted, stowing my tonfa away. "Fight for discipline. Fight for Namimori."_

Which brings me back to now, two days later.

Wase-hakase chuckled as he entered the main corridor where I stood stonily, my back against the shoji door. "A new fan?" He asked.

"Don't I know it," I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Go take care of him for me. Beat him up or whatever. Just make sure he doesn't come back."

"Ehhhh? But I can't hit a defenseless eight-year-old boy!"

"…You nearly killed me due to blood loss a month ago."

"Well, you're not defenseless, Kyouya-kun!"

"What, so you're not going to hit him because of the Hippocratic Oath or something?"

"Oh, no, I never took that oath."

"How are you still a doctor."

"Oh, I mean I have connections and all, so all I had to do was—"

"Hibari-samaaaaaa!" Rang the voice again, whinier this time. "Please let me iiiiiinnnnnn!"

"This is all your fault," I deadpanned.

"Eh? How is it mine?" He complained.

"HIBARI-SAMAAAAAAAAA!"

I hate summer.

.

.

.

**A/N: GUESS WHO'S TOTALLY EFFING LATE AS EFFFF? ME, THAT'S WHO!**

**I was wondering when I'd get off schedule. I wrote in my profile ages ago that my updates would be sporadic at best, but then I started this and Kyouya wouldn't stop gnawing on my brain. So then I started updating every week or so, and now I feel bad for making ya'll wait an extra week. Flipping flippers is this chapter longer than usual.**

**So… Kusakabe's finally here to add a bit of comedic relief. Wase-hakase was a jerk for a moment, but he's just a well-meaning adult. Kyouya still doesn't trust him, by the way, just tolerates him in the way he does/did Fon. Damn. I meant to add him too, but this chapter got out of hand.**

**I need to start planning more. Seriously, all I do is wonder how many headcannons I can shove into each segment, haha. Ha. **

**For those who don't know, Tanabata is a summer festival on the seventh of July, and Obon is from the thirteenth to the fifteenth, meant to celebrate the dead. Obon, that is. Tanabata is about wishes and some romantic stuff involving Orihime and Hikoboshi. I think. Don't have much reference here. Halloween's coming up, by the way, and I might do an omake on that next chapter.**

**OH YEAH. I asked if anyone knew Kyouya's favorite sushi last chapter, and only one person got it right: **Bloodstained Fantasy**. So a round of applause, please~! She/He didn't request and omake, though, so that's still open, if you want, dears! **

**OTL I'm getting into midterms next week, with AP classes and all; not to mention my school works on an advanced course that squeezes an entire course into one semester, hence midterms in the first term. Blah, enough about my life.**

**QUESTION: Anything ya'll wanna complain to me about? Life, Kyouya, jerks in general?**


	12. Chapter 12

Do As You Like Chapter Twelve

Wase-hakase, I believed, was a very strange, very… _normal_ person.

Yes, yes, I knew that he was a complete deviant, and that he cared about me way too much (honestly, it was more than he should), but compared to me, he appeared practically boring. That attribute was probably why I, after only knowing him for close to a year, felt like I could, ah, not _trust_ but _appreciate_ his close existence.

I hesitated to call it a dependence, but… perhaps. Had I been who I used to be, perhaps I could have relinquished my independence. I wasn't so sure; with the four Creeds hanging over my head, it felt a bit odd to imagine emotionally chaining myself to someone else in such a way. And yet, he fit in so naturally.

I used to bear the menial tasks of the household, if not for a sense of cleanliness, then to uphold the appearance of my home. Wase-hakase had seen that much. Then, one day he did the dishes. Then the dusting. Vacuuming. Laundry. I still cooked, but only because of my adamancy. Little by little, he took my burdens away from me as if without meaning to. Just like that.

Which was why it had kind of… _hurt_ BUT NOT REALLY DAMN IT to know that he hadn't thought that I cared about him. Sure, I was an abusive prick, but… okay, that was probably why.

Sometimes I hated who I'd become. But then that would mean that Kisuke and Tsubame had raised me wrongly, right? Surely that couldn't be the case. It wasn't their fault I turned out to be so guiltless in the face of injury.

"I should go now." Raking a hand through my messy hair—as always, laziness kept me from doing so with a legitimate comb—I adjusted my gakuran and made certain my tonfa hung in their correct holsters. The sun peered over the horizon almost coyly, peppering the countryside with a healthy smattering of light rays. I brushed past the shoji door.

"Ah, have a safe trip, Kyouya-kun!"

My steps faltered before I stiffly continued walking. Don't do that again, I told myself. It makes you look weak, and you _can't_ look _weak_. "…Yeah, I'm leaving."

**{KHR18KHR}**

"H-Hibari-kun? May I have your attention?"

My eyes flickered from my folded arms to the nervous gaze of my homeroom teacher, a man I still didn't remember the name of. I felt a bit peeved off—it was lunch time, and I'd been planning to take a nap—but somehow of other Wase-hakase had brainwashed me into not snapping out immediately. It wasn't tolerance, but I did refrain from commenting on his stuttering.

"Yes?"

"Ah! Okay. Um. I've noticed that you haven't joined any c-clubs yet, and I've been waiting to tell you since you're a special case, but, ah…"

Club? I squinted at him, uncertain of where he was going with this before pulling back slightly. Ah, right. Elementary schools didn't have mandatory club meetings, but high schools did. How could I have forgotten? I'd read the rule book cover to cover.

Well. It wasn't like I had to join a club, me being me and all. I could make up something.

(And didn't that sound egocentric?)

"I _am_ in a club," I told him, speaking slowly. "The Disciplinary Committee."

Wait, why did I say that? His bushy eyebrows rising up on his forehead, the middle-aged man's expression informed me that I wasn't the only one taken aback.

"Disciplinary Committee?" He parroted, scratching his head. "We don't have a Disciplinary Committee."

I shrugged and smoothly met his eyes, daring him to counter me. "Of course we do."

And that was that. Apparently the Disciplinary Club had always existed, and I happened to be its sole member.

Wonderful.

The moment the final bell rang, I leapt out of the window and down four stories, bending my knees to absorb the shock and rolling to reduce the impact. My tonfa jarred against my hips, pulling a grimace onto my face, before I melted into the crowd of leaving students to exit the school. Once outside the gates, I found a busy road and ducked into it.

All told, while the Disciplinary Committee hadn't officially 'existed' until now, I'd been doing its job for some time now. Typically the police would find delinquents and scold them; should one rack up enough warnings, the school would expel him or her. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on the point-of-view) Namimori had never been the most typical of places, despite its rather generic name.

Chiefly, I could say the existence of the Hibari family had changed everything, but then again before I came around the police had done their job with my father there to make sure of that. Therefore, had I not existed, perhaps Namimori would have still been a bit off. After all, it would eventually be the Japanese base of operations for the Vongola Famiglia—but not on _my_ watch, because this was _**Hibari Kyouya's**_ town—and home to Sawada Tsunayoshi, the boy who could set things on fire just by being pissed off. Hmm. Namimori would forever be weird, it seemed.

My stomach growled. Ah. No wonder my thoughts had traversed to such a weird place.

First order of business: find a good restaurant. Then I could beat up some more Neanderthals. I nodded to myself before zeroing in on a plain establishment. The sign endorsed gourmet (and traditional!) pastries, and I figured, why not? I hadn't had any sweet snacks in a while.

As I slid into my seat, I took in the surroundings: white paper lanterns lined the ceiling; shoji doors decorated the walls. The room projected a very delicate image, yet despite this, bits of modern culture had a place amongst the old. Hanging down at eye level (for adults, at least) were a myriad of silver and glass cages, each toting some sort of pastry, drink, or dessert. In between the paper lanterns shone little electric blue stars, and the longer I stared the more I could see of the constellations interspersed between the lights.

It was a wonder why this place was empty. Did the food not live up to expectations?

"Welcome! Can I get anything for you to order?" I tensed in my seat before relaxing at the sound of the voice. Looking up, I caught sight of a young woman in a simple yukata not unlike the ones I usually wore, and nodded.

"One sweet potato and… candied chesnuts?" I blinked down at the menu. Could these items even be considered gourmet?"

She nodded brightly, sending her twin-tails bobbing. "Would you like anything to drink?" At my request for some green tea, she continued, "I'll be right back out with your meal!"

This was… odd. Then again, everything was odd, wasn't it?

No, I needed to stop falling onto that train of thought. Food, food! Think of food! Thankfully, I waited only but a minute before she returned with my (not, Wase-hakase would be so scandalized) meal, and I hastily dug in, pouring a cup of tea for myself from the pot provided.

The wind chimes at the door sounded with sharp, tiny pings. My ears twitched, but I made no move to look over, too intent on finishing my baked potato. That is, until a stupidly familiar, hackle-raising noise reached me.

"Hiiiiiiii…"

My brows furrowed as I bit down on a candied chesnut.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii…!"

I felt a wrinkle in my nose, and deeply inhaled the smell of my green tea.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiibari-saaaaaaaaaaaannnn! _Hiie_, I can't believe it, it is you!"

_Oof_. My eye twitched (ominously) as a pointy, elbow-y Sawada Tsunayoshi rammed into me. Truth be told, a wave of guilt had spread through my body the moment I heard his voice. I never felt guilt—at least, not anymore—but it seemed that only that boy could invoke that feeling. How long had it been since I last saw him? Months? Definitely not since I entered high school. Helplessly, my hands hovered over his barnacle-like form, my mouth opened in a distressed 'o'.

"Tsu-kun?" I tried. He wailed into my shirt. An eyebrow twitched as the six-year-old babbled random sentences, his words stringing along into unintelligible paragraphs. "Tsu-kun!" Still nothing.

I snapped. "Tsuna!"

He froze, stilling unnaturally. Like always, the boy's ochre eyes seemed to see all and nothing at the same time, peering into me as if I had no secrets to hide from him. They were unnatural, especially with that permanent orange tint to them (that… hadn't always been there, right?), and I frowned at him. Snot dribbled down his face. "Hi-Hibari-san? It's Hibari-san, right?"

I suddenly lost the ability to speak.

"Hibari-san, it's Hibari-san," Tsuna began muttering to himself, still refusing to pry his hands from my shoulders. "But how is this Hibari-san? Hibari-san called me 'Tsuna,' but Hibari-san never calls Tsu-kun Tsuna, why would Hibari-san call Tsu-kun Tsuna?"

O…kay…

"Tsu-kun?"

_Blink_. _Blinkblinkblink_. "Ah!" A relieved expression overcame his face, lighting up his features so that his baby fat cheeks brightened with a light pink. "It _is_ Hibari-san after al! Ehehe, for a second there, Tsu-kun thought that Hibari-san had called him Tsuna!"

Um. "…Why are you referring to yourself in the third person?" He hadn't referred to himself in third person since I met him years ago.

"Eh? What do you mean, Hibari-san? Tsu-kun doesn't know what you're talking about."

…

I firmly removed him from my person and seated him beside me before shoving a candied chestnut into his mouth. "Chew."

He obediently did so.

"Swallow."

He did that too.

"Drink some tea."

"…Um, I'm sorry, Hibari-san, I think I'm okay now."

"Good. For a second there I thought I had to literally smack some sense into you. I have my tonfa with me. I upgraded them, by the way; they have hooks now."

"No, that's, um… Fine."

We stared at each other. The silence of the store felt too loud for the two of us.

"So." Stiffly, I turned back to the half-eaten plate of sweet potato.

Tsuna continued staring at me. "So," he echoed.

"Do you have a thing against your name?" I didn't want to bring up the space in between us generated from the time spent apart. I felt like the situation was too delicate for that conversation just yet. (Why did that sound so weird?)

Flushing, the boy shook his head and didn't meet my eyes.

"Why?" I continued curiously, crunching on another chestnut. "Everyone calls you Tsuna. Well, except Nana-san."

"…Hibari-san, too."

"Mmn?" I grunted around a mouthful. Gulp. Okay. "What was that?"

"I call Hibari-san Hibari-san because Hibari-san calls me Tsu-kun. I-I've always been Tsu-kun to you. I don't wanna change that."

…Huh. Absently, I ordered a batch of cream puffs for him because he adored the 60%-air teeth-munchers, and, well. The chestnuts were good. The potato, too. As I poured another cup of tea, I found that I really did like this place.

But. Tsuna looked so vulnerable there beside me, with some snot still pooling at his upper lip and tears on his lashes. Kami-sama, he was such a crybaby. Then again, that was what made him Tsu-kun, wasn't it?

"Won't you be embarrassed when we're older?" I inquired after the waitress came back with this monolithic tray of fluffy cream puffs all stacked up pyramid style. Even after the question he still didn't move for the dessert, therefore, irritated, I once again crammed the thing into his mouth. "You wouldn't want me to call you 'Tsu-kun' at that time. Wouldn't Kyouko-san think it weird that you prefer such a childish nickname?"

He'd met the girl just last summer before… Hn. He always blushed around her, making her fan club scramble to beat him up (leaving me to lay waste to their would-be carcasses). I personally thought the crush was kind of pathetic, since I couldn't see the allure she gave off, but then again it would he worrisome if I could.

I am _not_ thinking about that. I'm twenty-six, damn it!

Pitifully, the herbivore (nonono, _Tsuna_, he's _Tsu-kun_) chewed on the pastry. He sighed after a moment. "Embarrassed… nope. Not even around Kyouko-chan. That's because Hibari-san's my best friend. We can call each other by how we want to, right?" Pensiveness made his eyes larger than before, and I cringed at the sight.

(Must… not… pet… head…!)

"Unless Hibari-san doesn't want to call me Tsu-kun anymore, then…"

"No!" I blurted out, a bit too swiftly. "I, err, no, it's okay. I just wanted to know if you'd be okay. With me calling you that and all. Yeah." I shook my head and grabbed a handful of the candied nuts to try to choke myself.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I returned meekly, a mortified redness staining my face. "But you're fine with calling me Hibari-san? Not…" I hesitated and looked down at my hands. "Kyouya?"

To my surprise, Tsuna jumped in his seat. "K-K-K-Kyou—uh! I! Can I? It's okay? You won't be mad?"

I stared. "I call you 'Tsu-kun.'"

Dazedly, Tsuna waved his hand and shoved a cream puff into his mouth. "But… K-K-K-K-Kyoouuuuu… Uuuuu… You don't let anyone call you… that."

Of course not. Only Tsubame, Fon, and Kisuke had ever called me by my name. Only ever family. Did I really want to include Tsuna into that fold? Did I?

"Sure. I don't mind if it's you."

"Then, K-Kyou… ya. Kyouya. Kyouya! Kyouuuuyaaaa! Kyouuuuu—"

"That's enough," I said as he began to shout my name a bit too loudly.

**{KHR18KHR}**

"So, now that I'm home, do you want to work on _that_ thing?"

"Ah, yeah—eh? Fish?"

"What are you talking about? I don't see a—"

**{KHR18KHR}**

"Pass the soup, please. Thanks."

"Oh, can you get me some more rice?"

"Here ya go. …Hmm. You think this fish tastes a bit weird?"

"Mmph? Uh, um, weird how?"

"Nah, maybe it's just me."

"No, no, I think I can taste it. It's… pickly?"

"'Pickly'? As in… vinegar-y?"

"Ah, but you're right, Shiya-san, it is rather pickly."

"Pickly. That's a weird word."

"Eh. What do you think, Kyouya-kun?"

I slowly opened my eyes, rubbing them and looking around. Huh? Rice? Chewing the bite of food before swallowing, I wrinkled my nose. My fingers absently tapped the tips of my chopsticks together (since when was I holding chopsticks?), and lethargically, I didn't bother to look up from my meal. "It tastes normal," I confessed somewhat confusedly, picking up another clump of rice and examining it. Yawning with a shrug, I popped it in my mouth.

Across the table, the kid I had 'saved' all those months ago ("Call Me Tetsu!") smiled widely. "Really? Well, if Hibari-sama says so!"

(What was he doing here?)

Chuckling and trying to hide the fact, Wase-hakase snorted into his miso soup. Looking put out, Tsuna pouted and requested some soy sauce.

There was something seriously wrong going on, I decided, but what? I handed Tsuna the bottle.

"So I was thinking," began Wase-hakase in a commiserating, hushed voice, "We should all go out to do something for Tsunayoshi-kun's birthday next week."

Bemused, Tsuna blinked rapidly. His face flushed, and he scratched his cheek. "E-Eh? You d-don't have to do any… ah, anything," the soon-to-be seven-year-old boy stammered, turning to me in a flustered manner. "I mean, uh…"

"Oh?" Wase-hakase tilted his head considerately. "Sorry, are you doing anything with your family?"

If anything, the already small boy seemed to shrink even smaller as the doctor eyed him. "N-No…"

"Then we should definitely do something!" Tetsu exclaimed heartily, leaning forward so that his hands pressed flat against the wooden grain of the table. The wood swerved a little bit at the force, and I sighed as I righted my bowl of vegetable soup. A carrot had fallen out with a splash, damn it, but I could hardly blame the kid. He seemed the excitable type. Eager to please, too.

Tsuna cringed—he was rather OCD about table manners and all that, interestingly enough—and grabbed a napkin to dab at the wet area. "It's f-fine, I don't usually celebrate my birthday, and, uh, when I do I just hang out with Kyouya."

Movement stopped.

"You… call Hibari-sama by his given name?" Asked Tetsu with an oddly… well, odd hint in his tone. He pushed his food away.

Likewise, Wase-hakase let the supposedly pickly sanma between his chopsticks fall back into his bowl. "He never lets me call him that!"

"I'm right here. Just in case you two forgot."

Tetsu edged up to the brunet with a determined expression that looked terrible on him. I wasn't sorry to say so, by the way—it looked disturbing. "Nee, Tsuna-san, how did you get him to let you call him by his name?"

"Still right here."

Wase-hakase slammed his bowl back onto the table, and I mourned for the new crack in my abused furniture. "Tell us all your secrets, Tsunayoshi-kun!"

I palmed my face as Tsuna frowned thoughtfully. "Eeeh," the boy began awkwardly, still chewing some fish, "I… didn't do anything?"

"But you had to! Kyouya-kun's such a stick in the mud!"

"Hibari-sama is untouchable, but there are times when I want to try, just to see how it feels!"

"I am feeling so attacked right now."

"Mou!" Tsuna stood up abruptly, ears ablaze with pink. "I-If you guys want to call Kyouya by his name, then you have to be his friend! I'm his friend! In fact, I-I'm his best friend!"

I could hug that boy, I swore. But then I'd get hives.

Wait, why were we having dinner together, anyway? I… just came back from the pastry shop with Tsuna. I think. Closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose, I tried to recall what happened twenty minutes ago. The hell?

"Kyouya-kun?" Wase-hakase frowned at me and reached out with a hand before faltering and switching to his other appendage. I caught a flash of white before his fingers disappeared underneath the table.

Bandages? I turned over to Tsuna, and sure enough, he also had bandages—sheathes upon sheaths layered upon his arms, uniform and made with a practiced arm. The bespectacled kid to my right froze as my attention turned to him, and he hastily covered up the bandages that peeked out from underneath the shirt he wore.

Actually, come to think of it, I also had bandages. …Around my head.

"What did you three do." Immediately, all eyes fell upon my least trusted of the lot.

Tetsu. He seemed the most suspicious. After all, I hadn't seen him in months. He'd changed a lot in that time. How chould I say this… he'd grown. Taller. Much taller. Taller than me. Also, he slicked his hair back like a delinquent did, but still wore those horrendous glasses.

…Definitely suspicious.

"Explain."

"Um… I…" The boy's voice wavered, and suddenly he launched himself at me with his arms outstretched, tears streaming down his face. "Waaaah, Hibari-sama, I didn't mean to do it!" In the split second it took me to notice this behavior, I thought that he looked rather stupid. And pitiful. Well, not pitiful. Mostly pathetic. Tetsu flailed and tried to hug my leg.

I punted him across the room without a shred of regret (or mercy) and turned to Wase-hakase, who I felt would better elucidate my lack of knowledge. He smiled sheepishly, a bead of sweat on his brow.

"Well, you see…"

"**Haaaaah. I'm so tired," the doctor sighed, staring out the window with a forlorn look on his face. A couple of birds looked in with their beady little eyes and cocked their heads before flying off. They were laughing, he was sure. Everyone was laughing at him these days. **

"Are you going to explain it, or is this just a pity party?" I demanded.

"Calm your horses, Kyouya-kun! I'm getting there!"

**Wase wanted adventure! Drama! Fun! And yet here he was, lying in his bedroom (that still had nothing in it), limp and flaccid.**

Tsuna squeaked out a giggle, but hurried to cover his smile at the look Wase-hakase directed him. "What?" The boy asked impishly, "It's a funny word."

"ANYWAY."

**After all, Kyouya was out doing something (patrols, most likely), and he'd just got back from work early to see if he could surprise the boy with some nice grilled sanma to appreciate the fine autumn season. Kyouya liked things like that, he'd deduced after some months living with the kiddo. Traditional things were very important to him. **

Somehow or another, Tetsu had crawled back to his feet, and now he clutched a tiny notebook in his fingers. "Likes… traditional… foods…" He muttered as he scribbled something down. I decided not to think about it.

**Well, it wasn't all that bad. The Hibari estate kept him from having to keep paying for an apartment's rent, and the house sat quite a bit closer to his work place as well. Kyouya-kun, while he couldn't be called good company—**

"Sure, thanks."

—**more than made up for that with his presence. He was a good kid. Sure, maybe he could be a bit violent—**

Tsuna coughed loudly.

"SERIOUSLY."

—**but that was a part of his charm. As a healer, Wase liked to make sure his patients were all both physically healthy and mentally at ease, if not sound. That boy needed to have someone around him, and while Wase could have let him go and live on his own, the doctor side of him couldn't allow that, not after watching Tsubame waste away like she did. **

**So he lied there, staring outside, bored out of his mind but still too lazy to do anything but breathe. **

**And then he heard it: a splash. **

**"The hell was that?" The sound had come from somewhere in the southern wing of the home, possibly in the gardens that Tsubame had cultivated years ago. Wase frowned and clambered to his feet. Okay, really, what was going on?**

**The Hibari mansion was eerie to navigate alone, he soon realized. After a couple of minutes, he constantly looked over his shoulders, wary of anything jumping out at him. There was just something about the hallways… Maybe they had more shadows than other places, or maybe the house was just a bit too quiet, but Wase could feel his skin crawling. **

Tsuna cocked his head in my direction. I nodded and mouthed, 'Hidden traps.'

**Wase could have traversed those hallways for hours or perhaps minutes, but eventually he found his destination. It felt a little too early, though; after being so at edge, the doctor almost dreaded finding the culprit of the noise. But, like with all of his decisions, he squared his chest and pushed forward. He slid the shoji door open, and saw…**

**A fish. Certainly, the specimen looked horribly big—nearly the length of the man himself, and twice as wide—but what bewildered him even more wasn't the thing's massive girth but its appearance. The fish looked like a red snapper, but red snappers couldn't possibly get that huge. It swam in Kyouya-kun's neglected pond, terrifying the little two-foot-long mutant koi fish that seemed practically tiny compared to the snapper. **

"For the last time," I huffed, "they are _not_ mutant."

"Lies! They should be dead after not being fed for six months! I bet they scavenged on one of their own kind and now they want to eat us!" Wailed Wase-hakase.

I paused to think, then shrugged. "Carnivorous koi… I suppose that's acceptable."

"No, it isn't!"

**Where had it even come from? The doctor pondered to himself, eyeing the fish with a squinted gaze. Was it also a mutant? Or possibly…**

**An evolution of a koi fish?!**

"What is this, Pokemon?"

"Kyouya-kun. Please, just… oh, never mind," Wase-hakase sighed.

**Just before Wase-hakase turned around to head back to his room—it was just a fish, it didn't need any supervision, right?—he spotted a figure cutting around one of the camellia bushes and over to the pond. He couldn't believe his eyes. A kid? The first thing that came to mind was why one earth a random eight-year-old was sneaking around the Hibari estate, but that soon fled his mind when the boy jumped into the pond without hesitation.**

**Without hesitation! There were man-eating fish in there, and it wasn't the red snapper!**

"Shiya-hakase," Tsuna meekly proposed, "I think that's enough with the koi fish."

Meanwhile, Tetsu (ah, now I could call him by Tetsuya instead of a nickname… But why did that sound so familiar?) cringed at my attention. "Err…" He looked away guiltily.

"**Stop! What are you doing?" The good doctor cried as the boy not only swam toward the fish but began to **_**haul it to shore**_**. "It's dangerous, get out of there!"**

**Kami-sama, he thought to himself. Was he going to watch some random kid get eaten by a fish over twice his size? This wasn't—he couldn't allow that to happen! He was a doctor, and darn it, as much as he loved his job, sometimes he couldn't help but wish he were never needed. So he shook his head, rolled up his t-shirt sleeves, and dove right in after the boy.**

**And damn, was that water cold.**

"Language!" I snapped, plugging Tsuna's ears. "Have you forgotten that he's only six?"

**Oh… Oops. Anyhow, he managed to reach the boy, and just in time—the boy had misjudged the depth of the water, and his head could barely break the surface! Wase hurried to grab the brunet's shoulder, throwing him onto his back and clambering back to the edge. Mou, why did Tsubame have to make such deep ponds?**

I felt something touch my hand and jerked back from Tsuna's searching eyes.

"You okay?" He softly inquired.

Tersely, I clenched my fists and curled them around my tonfa. "Fine," I bit out. "Just fine."

(waterbreathohgodsI'mgoingtodiepleasepleasepleasesaveNikaohwait—)

**But that fish! Wase wheezed (he needed to start exercising some more, man, were those love handles?) and haphazardly tossed the tall boy back onto dry land before yelping as something gripped his foot and yanked him underwater. **

Tetsuya gasped. Apparently he hadn't heard this bit.

**He couldn't breathe—water seemed to invade him, pushing down on all sides, and he coughed up a large bubble of air before lashing out with as much strength as he could. But where was anything? The sun had shone high in the sky, but now it dipped on the verge of night, sharpening the inky blackness of the water like a whetstone. All hope seemed lost. Still biting Wase's leg, that red snapper caught his eye and laughed at him.**

OhfuckohfuckohfuckI'mdyingI'mdyingdamnitIhavetoliveIhavetoliveIhaveto—

"Kyouya-kun!"

I tore a new wound in my bottom lip, hands clamped over my ears. Absently, on a certain level, I registered sound around me, but I couldn't focus on it, like everything was distorted through water. My head shook, my knees throbbed (when had I fallen, why couldn't I remember?), and my breaths came short and shallow. I tasted blood; it seemed to be one of the only sensations I could feel, but before I could react, Wase-hakase was there, one hand on my shoulder, the other one tightly gripping a handkerchief and collecting the fluid before it could stain my floor.

_(What the fuck was that?)_

"K-Kyouya?" Behind me, Tsuna rubbed circles in my back. His worry was almost tangible.

For a brief moment, I wanted to laugh. Like, seriously? I was twenty-six! An adult! I wasn't some stupid eighteen-year-old anymore, and I sure as heck wasn't an eight-year-old!

So why did that affect me so? I'd seen my father die before my eyes! I'd killed (howmanyohshitIforgot) people! Drowning wasn't… It didn't mean anything!

"Just continue with the story," I demanded harshly, pushing them both away. A couple of feet away, Tetsuya's hands wavered in front of his body in worry, his expression one of self-deprecation and hesitance. "What… What happened after you got pulled down?"

The expression of Wase-hakase's face disturbed me more than it probably should have. "Kyouya-kun," he began gently, "I told you how it went. You didn't hear me?"

Really? Not at all. I shook my head.

"Well, that's okay," he assured, not coming any closer after I shoved him off of me. Good; he knew doing so would only aggravate me even more. "Not much happened after that. I kicked the fish and it flew out of the water. In fact, I kicked it so hard it flew across the entire household and smacked you in the head."

"We were surprised when we realized what h-happened," Tsuna broke in helplessly, "but then just upset, Kyouya. There was a lot of blood. Shiya-hakase says you have a con-cu-ssion."

"I'm so sorry!" Tetsuya added sincerely, finally giving up and advancing toward the three of us. It was supposed to be a gift! I got the fish from my uncle, and I wanted to give it to you to eat!"

…Oh. That made sense, I supposed. My hands rose to tenderly prod the bandages around my head. Already the skin underneath itched fiercely. "Where did your bandages come from, though?" I probed, a frown stretching my face in a way that pulled at the broken flesh.

"Oh, you got knocked out so you don't remember, but you started attacking us right after the fish hit you."

I had nothing to say to that, so I simply stood and licked away the blood still welling up around my mouth. My sight couldn't include them. Turned away so that they couldn't see my face, I, as calmly as I could, went back to my seat at the dinner table and sat down. The three of them balked at returning to the meal so soon, but when I began eating, they joined me, albeit disconcertedly.

Apprehension pooled in my gut. I had to get rid of this weakness.

"…Where is that fish now?"

**{KHR18KHR}**

Good to know my knife skills still aren't terrible.

.

.

.

**A/N: So I'm a day late. I guess I'll just say that I'll post as soon as possible, mostly on Mondays, but I make no promises. Damn. I kinda love and hate this chapter so much. 'Twas a terror to write.**

**So I was going to write a Halloween omake this chapter, but I'm tired and stress and my PSAT is tomorrow, and midterms are Thursday and Friday. NOPE. TOO TIRED. SEE MY GRAMMAR DIED.**

**I reread the beginning, and I'm hitting myself now, because I got the school years wrong. Whoops. In Japan, schooling starts at six years old, in the first grade. How I made that blunder I don't even. Whatever. Namimori is a fictional town. Its schooling is fictional too. I am very sleep deprived, damn it.**

**Why was Tsuna in the pastry shop? I will answer that when I answer what **_**that thing**_** is.**

**Kyouya's getting over this slowly. That blow to the head? It's my stupid way of getting him to confront fish (sushi) and drowning (dying) in one go. Also, it's a bit more apparent this chapter, but Kyouya has more people now. He's not very accepting of help, but he's not pushing them away. Tetsuya's kinda iffy tight now. Tsuna's fine. Wase-hakase… ^^" My Kyouya (Man!Tea, the one that actually talks to me) thinks Wase-hakase is a total loser and so am I for writing this, by the way. The things I do to satisfy the plot bunnies.**

**List of Headcannons that I've explained so far about Canon!Kyouya's nonexistent past: **

**Blood thirst**

**Crowding (ish)**

**Tetsuya (getting there)**

**Tonfa (AU)**

**Parents**

**Age (will explain next chapter)**

**Personality (because why not?)**

**Is there anything I'm missing? Also, funny thing, have I not mentioned that THIS IS GEN? I posted a question on relationships out of curiosity, but it kinda feels like you guys thought it was a deciding thing for future pairings. Um, no. I mean, I'm still not sure if this is reaching canon or not. IT'S AN AMALGAMATION OF MY HEADCANONS BROS HAVE I NOT MADE THIS CLEAR. I'm a terrible author OTL. My plots tend to fall through the cracks like what are plot holes? No, I have sink holes.**

**A/N IS GETTING TOO LONG. DAMN. ALSO CAPS LOCK IS FRIEND AND BETA I NEED.**

**QUESTION: Do any of you guys actually like Shiya Wase? I mean, he's my way of getting in someone to completely shatter Kyouya's defenses (other than Tsuna, who has Hero!Invulnerability) that may possibly die. POSSIBLY. I mean, am I really that heartless?**

**(I can already hear the 'YES!'-es going around.) **


	13. Chapter 13

Do As You Like Chapter Thirteen

The light danced off of his fingers merrily, jumping from one appendage to the next. It never wavered, though maybe it meandered a bit, and I smiled as I watched it twirl and loop from here to there. It felt… wild, but in a constrained, refined way. Almost like it was coy, able to harm but teasing in a manner that appeared docile. Tsunayoshi was like that, though, so it came as no surprise to me to see his flames act this way.

"How is it?" I cocked my head to the side at his questioning, hands against my chin as I lied belly down on his cushiony bed. "I think I'm getting the hang of this."

"You say that every time," I pointed out lazily, yawning but not bothering to cover my mouth. "It's fine. Could use a little more lateral detail around your thumb and pinky, but I can see what it is now."

Tsunayoshi frowned and shifted his grip. "Like this?" The titian and tangerine wisps thinned and spiraled outward. "Ugh."

"Oi, the core's getting destabilized."

"Don't think I don't know that," he groused irritably, glowering at his hand. "I'm trying my best."

"Hn." I returned to mere observation and let him concentrate in peace.

It was days like this that I treasured the most—a quiet moment inside, with the cloudburst raging against the walls. The warmth of the flames seeped into my skin like ink from a tattoo, and I felt content to lie there and fall asleep. The crackling of fire nearly lulled me to sleep like an animalistic lullaby.

And that would have been my next action, had Tsunayoshi not flicked an ember my way.

"How is it now?" The lambent glow of his hand was rather hard to ignore, as the flowering, intangible rose in his palm seemed to pulse with energy; as I watched, it receded and grew at random intervals, just like a living being. "Pretty cool right?"

I threw a glare at him for interrupting my would-be nap, and then shrugged bonelessly. "Sure. But the fox from the other day was better."

"You always say that," he returned mockingly, pouting a bit. "It's always the cute animals with you."

"I resent that."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

I sighed and flipped over to look at the ceiling. "Hn."

These exercises had no true merit in fighting, but Tsuna had insisted in doing them. He was crap at it, though, so Tsunayoshi usually took over on that front, hence the boy's out-of-character behavior. Or rather, this was perfectly typical of Tsunayoshi. He mirrored Tsuna in a way that almost perfectly fit to the boy's personality. Where Tsuna panicked, Tsunayoshi relaxed. Where Tsuna joked around, Tsunayoshi kept a serious face. Where Tsuna had mercy, Tsunayoshi had not a single clement shred in his soul.

But that was okay. Both were Tsuna, even if one side was a herbivore and the other wasn't. I found that most of the time I didn't mind, even if I personally preferred the gentle Tsuna.

The flames dispersed in a helix of light, branching away to caress the walls and then fade. Even as the blaze hit me, I didn't move; despite his inherent nature, Tsunayoshi would never hurt me seriously. We both basked in the heat, and I inhaled the flavor of bitter coffee that stained the air. That was his unique taste—we hadn't tested with any other flames but ours, but we discovered that flames did indeed have a flavor. Pity we couldn't taste our own, but apparently my flames had a distinct, blueberry tea taste.

"It's your turn now," Tsuna chirped as the blinding copper in his eyes melted away to molten caramel. "C'mon, Kyouya, get up!" He pulled at my arm with a grin on his face.

I batted the twelve-year-old away with a grunt. "What? You know I don't like to do this."

"But your flames are preeetttyyy!" Tsuna whined, yanking and heaving and huffing. "I haven't seen them in forever!"

"I showed them to you last month."

"But that was _last month!_"

Grimacing at the ceiling, I pointedly avoided Tsuna's gaze. He was probably wearing that tiny-animal look that almost always worked on me. Ugh. Leave it to me to teach him my only weakness concerning him. I persevered in not looking.

"Kyouuuuyaaa! C'mon! It's already six o'clock, and I bet Wase-san wants you home in time to cook dinner!"

What, really? I frowned and swiftly sat up to scrutinize the clock in the far corner; sure enough, the little hand pointed firmly at the six. "Then I don't have time to show you. I have to get going."

"What? No!" Tsuna squawked and flapped his arms. "I-I showed you mine, so you have to show me yours!"

I paused, then shook my head and grabbed my jacket from off the floor. "No deal. Also, think before you speak, because that sounded weird just now."

"K-Kyouya!"

I… I wasn't running away. It was just a temporary retreat.

Or so I told myself.

**{KHR18KHR}**

I didn't have the same finesse that Tsunayoshi did when it came to flame manipulation. However, I did have much more of a power output, something that far outstripped the younger boy. That was the root of the problem, though—I hated my flames.

Well. 'Hate' was a bit of a strong word, but I didn't like my flames all that much. Not to say that I hated them for their type or because I had them, but because… Ah. Imagine a still ocean. I doesn't matter where it is, or what color or size. Just that it's still. The water doesn't move. It sits as calm as glass and reflects the clouds up above.

And then imagine reaching down from this tiny, rickety boat, hands cupped to gather just the tiniest bit. Your fingers dip down, slicing gently into the water, and then—

The boat overturns, you're drowning, you can't breathe, and the water fills up your lungs before you can pull away. All you can see is that very dark liquid in every direction, bearing down and yanking on you like a rag doll, and then you're _suffocating_, and, well. I felt this way every time I activated my flames. I wasn't… I wasn't afraid of water. I didn't loathe the ocean for being as deep and vast as it could be. I simply couldn't stand the feeling of being smothered by my own anger.

Stupid, right? Yeah, stupid.

"Kyouya-kun? You're home?"

I pulled off my rain-soaked jacket and draped it over a chair. Little droplets pattered down onto the wooden linoleum. "Well, I'm certainly not in the streets."

"Hah. Hah. You crack me up," the man deadpanned, pushing a stick-thin hand up his hairline and smoothing his fringe back. He tossed me a towel, and I threw it on my head. "How was Tsuna's?"

Stalking over to the refrigerator as I ruffled my hair, I shrugged. "It went okay. Nana-san gave me a bunch of snacks. I took a nap. Helped him with a couple of math problems." I grabbed a water bottle and flopped backward on the tatami mat.

"Geez, typical genius, are you?" Wase teased, hands on his hips. "You should do something about that, you know."

Oh, not this again. Wase always nagged me about doing something now that I wasn't in any education program. So to say, he'd been harping for the past _four years_. After graduating from high school when I was nine, I decided not to continue with college, since it would cut into my patrolling. Narrowing my eyes, I rolled over so that he faced my back. "Nope. Make me dinner."

"Wha—Today it's your turn! I made dinner yesterday!"

"_You_ are _my_ guardian. Also, I feel like having sukiyaki today."

Wase spluttered, moving around in the background. Vaguely, I heard pots and pans clanging, so apparently he'd decided to just go along with my demands. The doctor sighed. "You're spoiled. It's my fault, isn't it? It's because I do everything for you."

"Not everything," I denied with a yawn. "I still cook, if you'll remember the last two minutes of your complaining. It's just that you make my favorite foods best."

"Like I said: spoiled."

I chucked my water bottle in his direction, and he cursed before flinging it back. Naturally, I caught it, laying it aside and folding my arms behind my head.

"I'm taking a nap. Wake me when you're done."

He harrumphed. "Now that just makes me want to eat it all without you."

"You won't do that," I shot down immediately without even looking in his direction. "You'd feel so guilty that you'd make me some hamburg steak tomorrow." I paused. "On second thought, maybe I should just—"

"Never mind. I'll wake you up." Damn. Me and my big mouth. "You just nap there. It'll take maybe thirty minutes."

"Sure."

**{KHR18KHR}**

Wase did not, in fact, wake me up for dinner. He did, however, leave my portion, so I refrained from biting him to death in his sleep that night. He _also _left me with the majority of the meat slices (I knew how much we had since we did the groceries together), so I gave him that much of a thanks. Hibari Kyouya could be merciful when he wanted to.

(Which was rarely.)

I awoke the next morning feeling… relaxed. Sleep had not been fitful, and I hadn't awoken even once the night before. Neatly tucked beneath my futon blanket, I felt at ease for the first time in a while, though a tad unsettled at the same time. What would this feeling foretell? A glance at the bright red numbers on the clock beside me informed me of the time. Seven o'clock? I was awake earlier than I had thought. Feeling too tired to do much but lie there, but too awake to go back to sleep, I sighed and crawled out of bed, wiping the crust away from my eyes as I did so.

Wase did not greet me in the kitchen that morning, but I expected his absence. Using my political sway (read: blackmail), I had forced the original hospital director to step down on my tenth birthday. The lanky man might have berated me some, much to my ire, but within a couple of months, he graciously accepted the new job. I didn't know why he complained, anyway—he'd used his 'connections' to become a doctor in the first place.

I made a simple breakfast and threw together some onigiri for my patrols. Leaving a couple of tuna mayo for later, I grabbed the plain umeboshi ones and left the house with my tonfa pair in their holsters.

As I walked, I closed my eyes and tilted my head up to catch the feeble sunshine on my face. On a fair spring day like this, no clouds dragged through the sky, and only the sun hung in the sky, all alone and bearing down on half of the world. The heat that soaked into my skin roused me from whatever drowsiness that lingered, and I made my rounds with some sort of extra spring in my step. It wasn't noticeable—at least to most civilians—but enough to bring my spirits up. I had a feeling that today would be a good day.

_"Hai, Kyouya-kun, someone's calling the phone~! If you don't pick up, they'll be mad~! Hey, it might even be me, so—" _

I hastily dug the contraption out from within my old gakuran and picked up the call before the ringtone could progress any further. How the man had gotten a hold of the thing I didn't know, but now I knew to duly punish him for changing my ringtone.

"Speak." Grimacing, I rolled my neck to the side. Wase's overly cheerful voice could do that to me sometimes. Give me muscle spasms, that is.

Static crinkled on the other side, much to my discomfort. _"Kyo-san?" _Ah, so it was Tetsuya._ "…Um. Are you… free right now?"_

"You know as well as I do that I'm usually asleep right now. But yes, I am free," I hesitantly added, since I had nothing to do but patrol early today. "What do you need?"

I never asked if anyone needed something. That was just a waste of time.

The newly inducted middle-schooler exhaled and grumbled something before sighing. _"I… I just need some help with the Disciplinary Committee. Apparently one already exists, and you don't want me to join that one, right?"_

"You're a part of the former high school committee. Of course not."

"…_Right."_ Tetsuya sighed again, this time a bit angrily. _"I just spoke with the headmaster about creating another committee, but my request was denied. Also, since I don't have any other members—they graduated with you, if I remember—he won't let me create a group regardless."_

I made a noise of acknowledgment and stepped into an alleyway of thugs; all of which I then promptly disciplined before any could protest and disrupt the nice feeling I had in my veins. "Hmm. Is he still there?"

"_I'm outside of the office. He said that if I wanted to talk to him again, I'd need another appointment."_

I cocked my head to the side and flicked the blood off of my tonfa before collapsing them and sticking them back in their holsters. "Hou, _Appointment?_ We don't need an appointment. Go back in."

"_Eh? But he's with someone, and I don't think he'd be happy if we—"_

"He'll want to hear this. The name is Sawano Dousei, if I'm correct."

"…_Yeah? Why? What are you up to, Kyo-san?"_

I shrugged, knowing fully well that he couldn't see me. "Just go."

Over his end of the line, I registered a loud slamming and a yell. This arguing persisted for some minutes before I heard the phone being handed over.

"Sawano Dousei, I presume," I smoothly inserted, using a thug's relatively clean handkerchief to wiped away the remaining blood on my cheek.

"_Yes? Who is this?"_ A thick, lisped voice demanded furiously, punctuated by a hand slamming onto a table. _"This better not be a joke!"_

Smirking, I stepped back onto the main street and entered a tea shop. "I should hope not. This is Hibari."

Silence reigned, and I bit into my victory with relish, my mien reflecting an expression that pushed some customers five feet farther from my central point. The middle-aged man stuttered and wheezed._ "H-H-Hibari? A-As in, _that_ H-Hibari?"_

I frowned and quirked a brow. "Are there any other Hibari out there? Yes, the Hibari that owns your school. And your apartment. And your parents' farm. The Hibari that decides whether you go back to your wife with a paycheck or not." I laid on the sardonic tone a bit thickly, but it seemed to do the trick. I could practically feel the man do an about face.

"_Oh, Hibari-sama! Ah, h-how are you? Everything fine? Oh Kami-sama, I'm not being fired, am I? Am I? Because I didn't do it, it was Ayaka-chan's fault! She staged everything!"_

Holding the phone away from my ear with a disgruntled face, I let the man wait for my answer as I ordered a cup of green jasmine tea. "No, you're not being fired. But given your blathering just now, I reckon that's coming soon enough. No, I'm calling on behalf of Kusakabe Tetsuya. I heard you denied the formation of my Disciplinary Committee."

He actually squeaked. How amusing. _"Y-_Your_ D-Disciplinary Committee?"_

Don't go having a heart attack on me right now, I dryly thought to myself. "Yes. And after I so specifically asked him to tell you and all."

"_B-But! That Kusakabe? We're talking about the same person? Because he can't possibly be Hibari-sama's friend! He has such low grades and gives the school such a bad name—"_

"He's my underling," I snapped, finally fed up with this game. Crisply, I informed that it was in his best interests that he approve of my Disciplinary Committee, or else I'd be sure that he'd never find another job again. I'd make him disappear. I'd give his wife footage from the school storage rooms of _exactly_ what he'd been doing with his 'Ayaka-chan,' and I'd be sure to completely erase any traces that he'd existed. I could do it. I _would_ do it to. People like him didn't need to exist, and I wasn't blind—I'd been wondering where those embezzled funds were going.

He dissolved into a blubbering mess, agreeing, and I snorted again. "Wonderful. _Now _you're fired. I'm going to have to personally screen the next headmaster—you give your profession such a terrible, cliché example." Sipping my tea, I uncaringly hung up. The green jasmine tasted exceptionally good, much to my pleasure. I'd have to come by again sometime.

I had nothing but patrols to do anyway. Might as well make the most of my time.

As I tossed the plastic cup in the trash, I examined the phone. I had locked it—the screen had a _picture of me sleeping on it_—but that was the weird thing. In my hand I held a smartphone with Internet access, touch screen action, a camera, applications, and unlimited international calls. The last time I had checked, the year was only 2003. This technology was beyond its years, and it gave me a nostalgic feeling to grasp such a thing in my possession again. A smartphone. Heh. I used to go everywhere with it back when I was—back when I was eighteen.

Now what? My watch displayed a time of eight o'clock, and I didn't usually start patrols until nine. If I started early, I would only disrupt the patrols of the other officers, and I couldn't do that. Or I could, but that would lead to troublesome matters, and then I'd have to get a new Chief of Police.

_"Hai, Kyouya-kun, someone's calling the ph—"_

"Tetsu."

"Kyo-san! Oh, geez, what did you do? The headmaster just burst into tears! Not that it isn't an amusing sight, but…"

"I fired him. On the other hand, he also officiated our committee, so now you can recruit. Tell me when you get ten. …On second thought," I added, catching sight of a crowd of teenagers—all ranging from ages thirteen to fifteen and wearing the Nami Chuu uniform, "I see some next to me. See you in an hour."

Well. Converting delinquents was better than beating up two-bit criminals anyway. The yakuza groups stayed on the down low for the most part after I went about tearing down buildings, so now I didn't have much to do in the way of reducing criminal activity.

So.

Moving swiftly, I disarmed the closest one and slammed his face into the ground. Using this momentum, I spun around to careen my foot into another boy's face and jab my elbow into his chest. Many retaliated. I knocked them down. Others attempted an escape. I bit them to death as well.

A surge of glee passed through me at the sight of the last one mewling in his own tears, his nose broken at a sharp angle. Pathetic, worthless, spineless; I hadn't even needed my tonfa for this. However, despite my satisfaction, the burning in my mouth persisted, and I felt itchy.

I'd have to ambush Wase again, I thought with a grimace. This was getting a bit too much.

"From this day onward," I dictated, crossing my arms and letting my gakuran sleeves drift in the breeze, "you lot belong to the Disciplinary Committee. Your main purpose is to destroy all those that break the rules." I paused to survey them all, and let a smile reach my lips as I grabbed a random first year by his scruffy hair. "Count yourselves lucky, herbivores. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. After all, you could be dead."

He whimpered. How cute. Holding the former delinquent out to the crowd as if displaying a reward, I firmly continued, "Any who disagree with me can make themselves known right now." Dead silence. "Good. Clean yourselves up; those are mere flesh wounds, and I'll properly bite anyone to death if he whines about the pain."

That was nothing, after all, compared to the fire in my mouth, my lips, my gums. Nothing compared to the ache of the scars on my skin.

We must have made an amusing picture, the twelve of us marching through the streets of my town with me at the rear to watch them all. The majority limped; many crawled. Some bore it all with discontent on their faces, and I scrutinized them with keen eyes. They'd be the troublemakers, I decided. Tetsuya would have his hands full.

I greeted Tetsuya at gate a half-hour later, just as I had promised, and the taller teenager gaped before composing himself and introducing his position in the committee. My eyes flickered to my watch once during the procession, waiting for the school day to start at eight-thirty. Twenty minutes left until the bell rings, I thought to myself. I should get going soon.

Tetsuya nodded to me as I left, and I did so stoically, showing no weaknesses as I passed by the vindictive crowd.

Good. That way, they couldn't stab me in the back later on.

**{KHR18KHR}**

A week later, I palmed my face.

"A new batch," declared my stand in cheerfully, his spectacles shining in the light. Behind him, seven or so freshmen keened with fear. As soon as they caught my face, however, many relaxed.

The hell was he teaching them? He couldn't be praising my virtues to them, could he? I thought we'd long passed that stage!

"Why, Tetsuya, did you bring them to me?" I questioned long-sufferingly, shaking my head and casting a glance over to the group of blonds. Ugh. I'd have to get them to re-dye their hair. Unless it was natural, in which case I'd force them to dye their hair properly.

What was up with delinquents and bleach? Seriously?

"I wanted to show them their Committee Chairman," Tetsuya replied with a smile on his face. "It's only fair, after all."

Fair? How was shoving teenagers on my doorstep fair? "It's Saturday," I said monotonously, fingers itching to grasp the cold steel of my weapons. "I was hoping to relax."

"No, that's okay! I just wanted them to know!"

And he was gone. I slunk back into my kitchen to make a cup of tea.

"Tea junkie," Wase quipped from his seat at the table, reading over a newspaper I thought to be trash.

"Shut up."

I had thought that to be the first and the last instance concerning the Disciplinary Committee. Unfortunately, I was wrong. A week after that, Tetsuya came back, this time with twice as many adolescents behind him.

"Hi, Kyo-san! So these are the new recruits!"

What, again? Don't tell me he's doing this with every new reformed delinquent!

Glaring at the mass crowding at the door, I slammed the shoji door shut and stomped back to my bedroom.

Again, I did the same the week after.

And the week after that.

And then I just stopped opening the door.

"Kyo-san, there are some more—"

What now? I blearily cracked my eyes open and yanked the door to the side. Okay; I'd just command Tetsuya to stop sending his kids to my house or else I'd skin him alive. Yeah, that'd do it. But just as I opened my mouth, I face-faulted and stared at the sea of blonds in the middle of my street.

A _sea_—at least a hundred were there. Oh Kami-sama.

(Can you smite them all?)

"How did this happen to me?" I asked Wase later that night from under a large duvet, sighing up at the infuriatingly twinkly stars. "Am I cursed to have to deal with all of the idiots in this town? I wanted a quiet life—I wanted to live normally. I mean, normal people go out and get rid of the criminals when they can, right? Police do it all the time. But here I am, dealing with not only a pathetic police force and stupid yakuza that just can't take a hint, but also a bunch of snotty kids stampeding up to my door every week for me to evaluate them. Or beat them up. This is confusing," I finished, tiredly out of character. Enviously, I eyed the liquor beside me. Wait, why was I spewing my guts to him anyway? Ugh, I needed to stop complaining.

Kisuke was probably up there, I bet, laughing and crying over how 'sociable' I had become. Or maybe he'd been reincarnated as I was. Eh.

The doctor halted with his lips just brushing his sake cup. "Wait a second," he began bewilderedly, lowering the cup, "So you have no idea how you've amassed an entire private army, gotten the entirety of the Japanese police force to flinch at your name, and managed to keep an iron fist on every yakuza group in Namimori? Seriously?"

Well, when he put it like that… I paused and narrowed my eyes, my teeth flaring as if in reminder. "…Hold still and let me bite you to death."

"Eh? Eh? Why are you looking at me like that? Kyouya-kun? Why are you stalking forward? Why are you taking out your tonfa? Ah, wait, I'm drunk, don't—"

As I had thought, fighting with Wase—and nearly beating him due to his inebriated state—worked the best to kill the pain in my gums. I made sure to hit him extra hard knowing that.

.

.

.

**A/N: Short chapter this time, only 4.4k. Ugh, and early, too. Kyouya, what kind of muse are you? I wrote up most of this within the last couple days, and I'm pretty satisfied with this. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer, and I can squeeze in some more of Tsuna. Oof. Also, I think next week will finally be the Halloween omake. /facepalm**

**I actually quite adore Wase, since I created him not for this fic, but for another fandom. He was actually supposed to be the star of his own story, being an OC-Insert pragmatic doctor in SAO, but then I scrapped that idea. I never forgot his character, though, and shoved him onto Kyouya. And isn't it weird how both are technically me? Only Wase's my shamelessness and Kyouya's my temper and sadism, haha. **

**I'm pretty excited for the next chapter! I have a clear idea of what to do, and the story is progressing ever so much closer to canon. Hmm. What do you guys think? Should I end this before canon? My end result is relatively simple. If I continue into canon, dangerous waters are ahead… You can expect major changes due to Tsuna's semi-OOCness, and I'm not sure if I'm ready for that, haha. **

**Flamey-o, hotmen! As much of a pyromaniac as I am, Kyouya's a bit hesitant. He can't breathe under all of those flames, mainly because he has no idea how they really work. **

**("I mean, they're activated when you're pissed off. Of course I'm going to be angry every time I activate my flames.")**

**Fumufumu, blueberry tea. What flames do you guys have, and what would they taste like? What do you guys think the other guardians' flames taste like?**

**If you guys liked this chapter, please leave a review! My tummy's got the grumblies for some constructive criticism. **


	14. Chapter 14

Do As You Like Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: I think I should stop making these, evidenced by how many times I've forgotten to add them already. I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn! I can try all I want, but I'll never be able to draw a gun without reference. /sigh.

**{KHR**_**R!**_**KHR}**

"Ah, Hibari-san is so cool…"

"He's so amazing—took down that banchou from Azakawa High like it was nothing!"

"Well, he's Hibari-san, after all! Our committee chairman can't be weak!"

He kept his head down as he ran, fists clenched beside him as his breaths fell into rhythm. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, his body supplied, moving along in a pattern he remembered learning as a child and adapting to suit his pace. Overhead the sun had yet to rise, and he felt a bit heavy as a result—his sister liked to joke that he was like a sunflower sometimes, steady and steadfast, but he always brushed off the praise with a blush on his face and a tingle in his ears. It was just the sun; as extreme as it was, it couldn't really have anything to do with his physical ability, could it?

Well, whatever. Still running—more like sprinting—the boy sketched a tight curve at a corner and plowed forward, adamant on finishing this next lap before dashing all the way home like the extreme guy he was to take an extreme shower and prepare for another extreme day of school. Kyouko's extreme breakfast waited for him, and he could practically taste her special seven-hour energy drink already. Renewed by the prospect of nourishment, he plowed onward.

And ran into someone.

Normally, this didn't happen. Ryohei wasn't the type to space out during his exercise—it was never extreme to hit and run, after all—so he skidded to a stop and backtracked, panting slightly as his heart slowed to acceptable levels. With sweat sliding down his cheek, the boxer faced his accidental target.

Oh. Those eyes were really scary. But also extreme! He grinned a bit sheepishly, and extended a hand to help the other person up, then blinked as the other boy ignored it and pulled himself up. Ryohei laughed and retracted his arm.

"Sorry about that!" He apologized rather loudly, showing off his pearly white though slightly crooked teeth. "Didn't see you there!"

The shorter teen indifferently brushed off his slacks and grunted, though in affirmation or not Ryohei wasn't sure. Was he older? Ryohei kind of recognized him—had they passed by each other at school before?

Speaking of school, didn't he have to get ready? With a last startled look in the dark-haired boy's direction, he spun on his heel and dashed all the way back home to where Kyouko waited with his breakfast. Rude or not, he was hungry! If he was right, they'd run into each other at school anyway.

Food, he thought. Kyouko's extreme food is waiting for me! And with his ever-present dying will, he sped on home as fast as he could.

Later that day, Ryohei found himself fighting the Disciplinary Chairman.

How did this happen? To be honest, Ryohei wasn't entirely sure. It just so happened that the name, "Hibari," felt a bit familiar to him. Extreme, too. And since the tournament with Hisui Middle was coming up and everyone needed to train—even him, no matter what his club members claimed—he figured, why not? An extreme match with an extreme guy (that was apparently very scary) seemed right up his alley.

So he went up to the Disciplinary Chairman and yelled at him. Loudly.

In hindsight, he could have done better, but Hibari agreed, so that was okay, right?

Huffing as exhaustion tinted his muscles and seeped into his skin like ink, Ryohei threw another right hook at his adversary. Hibari was strong. _Really_ strong! Across from him and slightly to the left, the blond, broad-shouldered teen growled as Ryohei's fist passed by his ear. He then jerked his red spectacles off as he ducked and aimed for Ryohei's gut.

With adrenaline singing in his ears, the boxer narrowed his eyes and evaded the attack before spinning behind and shooting off a counterpunch of his own. It connected with a solid thump, sending Hibari flying back to slide on his back and absorb the fall with a roll. Fighting back an overly happy expression (Kyouko had warned him that doing so would scare other people) Ryohei leapt at the wavering stance of his opponent before jerking back from what would have been a devastating sucker punch.

"You're not bad," Hibari acknowledged with a surprisingly deep voice, nodding at him.

Smiling briefly, Ryohei replied, "You're pretty extreme too, Hibari!"

(For some reason, that caused Hibari to blink in confusion, but Ryohei didn't bother to ponder on it, already too swept up in the fight.)

After a moment, they both stared the other down. Then, as if on cue, the two shot toward each other at the same time, dissolving into a flurry of punches and blows that either connected or slid off entirely. Ryohei felt the peripheral time slip away like sand as he immersed himself in the moment, and punched and punched and punched as hard as he could. Air resistance felt like water slowing him down; he was sure Hibari felt the same. Finally, they both struck simultaneous hits.

…Ow. The duo promptly collapsed, nursing their aching jaws and grinning at each other like loons. That was what boxing was about, Ryohei thought happily to himself. Two men fighting a man's fight! Satisfaction thrummed through his body.

But there was something odd about his new friend, Ryohei decided as the other teen grabbed his large gakuran and shoved his glasses back on.

But what?

**{KHR18KHR}**

"You what."

Tetsuya beamed at me and wiped the blood away from his mouth as he answered cheerily, "I enrolled you in Namimori Chuu."

I checked his expression, bearing and tone before grimacing. This wasn't a prank or joke—he was serious. Which lead to me wondering why on Earth he'd decided to do such a thing without my say-so.

"Tetsuya," I deadpanned, mouth pressed into a thin line, "I'm not going back to middle school." More like backward into middle school, seeing as I had skipped it in this life. I didn't fancy the thought of reabsorbing the hurricane of drama I faintly remembered from my memories.

"But you've been really listless lately!" My second-in-command protested, much to my discomfort. "You always sigh—"

"Because the yakuza have been planning something, I'm sure."

"—and last night you didn't eat dinner with Wase-san—"

"I had an early dinner with Tsuna, and when did Wase tell you this?"

"—and I'm worried about you, Kyo-san!" He steamrolled on, gesturing helplessly with his hands. Growling, the (temporary, if I had anything to say about it) blond swiped his spectacles off and rubbed furiously at the lens. "I've read about prodigies losing touch with the world after they feel as if they have nothing left to do, and you're showing all the signs! I think having something to do (like beating up delinquents) will help!"

I kicked the teenager in the chest and strode forward to where he landed some feet away. My foot pressed against his sternum. "I'm not a prodigy," I stated blandly, pointing a gleaming tonfa between his eyes as I glowered. "I'm not some lost child about to lose touch with reality. What do you take me for?"

To be honest, I felt affronted that he would even think such a thing.

"Fine," Tetsuya pouted, flopping backward and spreading his arms out. "I'm just trying my best to look out for you."

"I don't need people looking out for me," I declared with disdain, scowling. "That'd be pathetic."

"Well, you don't need it, but I want to. So I am. You need normal human contact!"

Rolling my eyes, I jabbed his forehead. "I interact with people on a daily basis. What part of that isn't normal?"

"You _command_ them," Tetsuya pointed out as he prodded my unwavering weapon. "And they all fear you. Or in the case of your subordinates, me included, we adore you."

Ugh. If there was ever anything that irritated me more than mindless herbivores, it was the _adoration_ of mindless herbivores.

At last drawing back my tonfa, I grunted. "Why they do so I have no idea."

Tetsuya brightened. "You're charismatic, Kyo-san! You have this leadership sort of aura that—"

I walloped him upside the head, using more strength this time. Wisely, he stopped talking.

We descended into silence.

"…Does that mean you're not going to Nami Chuu?"

Glaring at him, I stomped harder onto his already injured chest. Then I paused and reconsidered.

"You said there were delinquents. Tell me more."

**{KHR18KHR}**

"Th-Thi-This is Hibari Ky-Kyouya," stammered the homeroom teacher, sweating from behind his desk. "P-Please introduce y-yourself, Hi-Hi-Hibari-san."

What a pathetic man, I inwardly mused. Ah, well. That would make skipping classes that much easier. Gazing cooly over the third years, I clearly declared, "My name is Hibari. Wake me up from my naps and you will die. I will bite to death any and all dissenters of the peace. Don't talk to me."

That went well, I thought to myself. The front row looked about ready to be evacuated.

Following that, I ignored the teacher's stammers and absquatulated the room.

(Hah. Absquatulate. …Damn, Wase was rubbing off on me more than I thought.)

Namimori Middle School wasn't much different from Namimori Elementary of Namimori High. Its layout was different, to be sure; whereas the elementary school had winding and twisting halls, the middle school had a more solid base and setup. Namimori High seemed the least complicated of the three with its straightforward paths. I liked the ambiance that the schools exuded. I wondered why.

Tetsuya hadn't truly needed to enroll me in this school. I could have organized everything from home or gone out on my own to discipline brats if I wanted to. After all, I'd done just the same in high school as well as elementary. But it seemed that my blond follower wouldn't take no for an answer, and while I could have swayed his mind had I wanted to, it had felt like too much work at the time.

So I went along with it. Wasn't like I had anything to really do other than patrols, and those were getting unnecessary lately.

Stalking the halls felt like prowling in my own home, like observing my own property and judging it so see if anyone had tampered with it. Certainly, many things did not match up with the blueprints I had procured from the former headmaster's office, but nothing differed enough to cause great concern. I found a reception room, inspected it, and deemed it suitable for my needs. Already plans cropped up in my mind for my new napping room: a stove would fit nicely in the corner, some bamboo trees could brighten the room because why not, my mother had always liked bamboo, and if I added drapes to the window and a couple of couches, it'd feel just like Kisuke's old office.

Huh. I blinked, and cocked my head. Perhaps I could visit their graves again and have some tea with them. While cherry blossom season last month would have been a nice time, any time would be fine, wouldn't it? Mentally rearranging my schedule, I locked the door to the reception room and found myself making a random circuit around the building.

Quiet hallways; a murmur through closed doors; a buzzing silence from underneath the skin; it'd been a while, but I felt natural inside of a school. What would my namesake have felt at this moment, with his eyes closed as he wandered aimlessly? I idly wondered as I ascended the stairs to the roof. He would have loved this feeling.

(Ah. Now that I think about it, hadn't he…?)

The wind pulled at my hair with little dainty hands, and I inhaled deeply, a cleansing breath, moving to lean on the metal wire fence at the edge. A high place, a free place—it felt like I could leap off at that moment and float away like a cloud, rising and falling and drifting away. Heights were nice. I liked the feel of adrenaline under my skin.

Well. Nap time, I thought to myself, looking forward to some sleep. I yawned and promptly allocated a bench.

Well, if there was once thing constant about being Hibari Kyouya, it certainly was undisturbed rest.

Not.

The door to the roof opened a tad loudly, a bit too swiftly to mean subtlety. Whoever it was, he or she must be accustomed to coming up to the roof. Why, though? With my eyes shut, I felt more than heard the warm body move in my territory, his blood permeating the air like a gentle, pungent perfume. An injury… _injuries_, I deduced, but who was it?

The boy fell against my bench like a cut marionette—almost touching me but not quite, just close enough to graze me skin with his body heat—and groaned before moving. I heard the familiar click of a first-aid box opening, and I admit, it piqued my curiosity.

"Students are not allowed up on the school roof," I murmured indifferently, opening my eyes to stare at the sky. Obscured by a multitude of clouds, the sun hid almost shyly, nowhere to be found in immediate range of sight. It made the sky feel dark and heavy; it would rain soon. Perhaps there would even be a storm.

"Oh! You're extremely awake!" Something about that voice jarred me enough to sit up and face the herbivore that dared to encroach on my space. Herbivores were like that; I could let them hover beside me, but any closer and I'd eat them. Simple as that.

Snow white hair, cropped and wild, entered my eyesight almost immediately. I stopped and stared before forcibly making my gaze shift. Purple-blue bruises throbbed on the boy's knuckles, and cuts littered his face, drawing jagged lines beside his chin, on his cheeks, and adjacent to the junction of his neck. His skin, like most others living in the temperate climate of Namimori, shone with a bronze hue that contrasted greatly with his natural(?) hair color.

"Sasagawa Ryohei." Finally placing his identity, I scrutinized him with a practiced eye. His lip bled from a split down the middle, and the skin around his left eye was shiny and black. From the various injuries on his person, I inferred that his opponent had not been faster, but perhaps stronger; the attacks clipped him but dealt great damage. "Who did you fight?"

Who should I punish for harming a Namimori citizen? I cocked my head in a manner that Wase always claimed to look animalistic, and tapped my fingers against my tonfa holsters. Sasagawa, for all of his brashness and impudence, had no where near the temperance of a delinquent.

"Ah!" He shouted suddenly, as if finally remembering, "Extreme! Hibari is really strong!"

I blinked.

Sasagawa jabbed at the air a couple of times, a manic grin on his young face. "That guy… He's definitely fit to be the Disciplinary Committee Chairman! He's got an extreme right hook!"

I stared.

"I want him to join the boxing club!" Declared the hyperactive (read: singleminded) herbivore with zeal. "Alright! I'll go ask him right now!"

He zipped (no other word for it) off of the rooftop to who-knows-where before I could bemusedly ask him, "But I'm right here…?"

Ugh. No; it was probably for the best that I didn't have time to react so weakly.

But still. What on Earth?

Later that day, after my overdue nap, I sat in my room and tuned up my tonfa. With an oiled rag, I wiped at the areas that needed the least friction—which, admittedly, included every section of collapsable metal. Diligently wiping the bloodstains away, I focused on ensuring that the additional accessories continued to function as well as I liked.

_**sHiNk**_. I traced a hook with the pad of my index finger, testing the point to ensure optimal puncturing efficiency. Like the talons of a bird of prey, all eighteen were large and durable. Despite this, they wore away easily, hence my double-checking.

After sharpening the afflicted areas, I flicked my wrist and allowed the hooks to slide back inside their hollow compartments. To be fair, I hadn't had much to fix; this week I hadn't utilized them too much. I did have half the mind, however, to revisit the armory that had outfitted my weapons with their spines.

Deadly, swift, and bloodthirsty—that was my ultimate goal. In my memories I could vaguely recall Kisuke having described Tsubame as this during dinner once as he sat, too bloody and bruised and tired to do more than barely pick at the meal my mother had given him. I hadn't thought much of it at the time, but they had fought too, hadn't they? Or sparred. I didn't seem to have noticed.

I didn't notice a lot of things.

Was that why, then, that Tsubame had encouraged my violent tendencies rather than curb them? Why both my mother and father—and uncle, come to think—had ghosted through the house as if phantoms, only making noise to alert me to their presences?

Tsubame had been a Triad princess. I'd never known. Or was it that she had become a florist to run away from this responsibility?

My stomach roared and gnawed from inside my body. Ah. Thinking too much again.

Wase had an overnight shift, so that night I musingly prepared a simple meal for myself. In spite (for he had not informed me of the matter beforehand), I used up most of the beef, but the meat had never been expensive, and I got discounts all the time. Wase would whine later, I knew, but if I purchased some taiyaki for him he'd instantly change his mind.

Wait, why did _I_ have to keep _him_ happy?

…Whatever. Too tired to deal with this (Wase always made my head hurt), I curled up inside my futon and immediately fell into quiet, painless oblivion.

**{KHR18KHR}**

"Hey, it's you!"

Once again interrupted from my sleep with my eyebrow twitching erratically, I pulled out my tonfa and lashed at his shoulder. "Don't call me 'you,' you herbivore," I warned, not deigning to turn in his direction. "Learn some manners—I'm older than you." **[1]**

Apparently Sasagawa could care less about manners. "Eh, it doesn't matter, right? We're extreme buddies!"

"Not. Buddies." The latter word fell from my lips with bitter spite, and I could practically taste the disdainful word on my tongue. "I am not your _friend_."

"Aww come on, don't be shy! We can be boxing buddies! Oh! Are you self conscious of your height? Don't worry! I was extremely short too before I—"

I clamped a hand on his mouth. "Shut up."

He shut up. Then he licked my hand.

I almost verbalized my revulsion ("Fuck, gross!") but held it in at the last moment and opted for a more cultured response. My tonfa whopped him across the temple. It wasn't enough to knock him out, of course (no matter how much I wanted to send his conscious flying out of the stratosphere, he didn't really deserve it… or maybe he did), but the blow sent him sprawling on the ground like a felled animal.

Unfortunately (or fortunately for him), he jumped back to his feet with nary a wobble, a fire in his eyes kindling stronger than before. His hands clenched into fists, scabbed but not bleeding, and he roared, "Extreme! Let's fight!"

…I really shouldn't have done that, I told myself as I resisted the urge to palm my face. Even so, I felt a smile rearrange my face, my eyes narrowing to focus on his weaknesses as I darted forward and struck out with my foot. It connected solidly with his chest—with much resistance despite his injured ribcage—and I advanced on my prey. Kick, duck, sta—oh, wait, no bloodshed—block. This kid, at the very least, was faster than the delinquent trash that plagued my school, despite being much slower than Tsuna or Wase. In next to no time I floored the herbivore again, cornering him with a tonfa at his jugular.

Sasagawa laughed almost voraciously. "Alright, again! That was extreme, buddy!"

_Urk._

With a loud crack, I darkly reiterated, "I am _no one's_ buddy," then huffed and climbed off of him. "Get up."

He obeyed, and this time I unequipped my weapons to elbow him in the sternum. Slipping around him, my speed enhancing my dexterity, I aimed for his weak spots. Neck, fleshy stomach, kidney, spine—with each blow I made sure to hold back to keep from permanently incapacitating him. I wasn't completely heartless.

No, really. Sort of.

Or maybe I held back because every time I looked at him and saw the face of his six-year-old self, the harbinger and preface to the worst chapter of my existence. Maybe I had a weakness for those who accepted me.

Or maybe not, I thought as I watched him fall limply to the ground; one hand reached up to rub at the graze on my left cheek where his fist had moved so quickly that it had drawn blood. I'd hit his temple too hard, and now stared at his crumpled form. I sighed and hefted him over to the bench with one arm. The other arm I used to grab the first-aid kit.

Bandaging someone else wasn't within my… behavioral skill set, so while my hands went through the practiced motions, it felt odd to do it from the other side—helping another person rather than myself. I didn't help Tsuna after sparring matches, and nor did I help Wase. Why did I help Sasagawa?

I wasn't sure, and I tried not to care.

But first's thing's first, I decided as I disinfected the boxer's knuckles. Who the hell was going around pretending to be me?

**{KHR27KHR}**

When Tsuna walked into Kyouya's house, mildly listening to some music as he invited himself into the mansion (it didn't exactly have a doorbell), he did not expect to see Kusakabe-kun lying on the ground knocked out cold. Or maybe he did. What he _didn't_ expect to see was his semi-terrifying best friend Kyouya murderously sheathing his bloodied tonfa as he righted a tipped-over kitchen table.

"…Am I interrupting something?" The brunet scratched his head and pulled off his headphones. Immediately, Tsunayoshi piped up, voice a tad annoyed.

**You would know if you didn't plug your ears all the time,** he snidely commented. Tsuna rolled his eyes and coiled up the wires to tuck the device inside his book bag.

_What can I say? _He snarked,_ I like the surprise. Stop whining like a neglected baby._

**Ooh, touchy. Still feeling down about Papa leaving without telling us? Of course you are. **

'Tsk'ing, Tsuna mussed up his hair and slid over to Kyouya's side. _Shut up,_ he shot back. _And don't call him that. He's not—_

**Worth it? But we still love him, don't kid ourselves. **

Before Tsuna could reply, Kyouya scoffed and picked up a pot of boiling water from the stove. The older boy jammed the tea leaves into the vessel before sighing and stiffly sitting down on a cushion. "No, you're not. What are you doing here, Tsu-kun? I thought you had homework to do."

Dubiously looking over his tired-looking friend's face, Tsuna eased into a cushion opposite of him. "Finished. Took forever, but I did. And can't I visit you on weekdays?" He ignored the pleasure that came with hearing his nickname; it made him feel special.

**Normal complex. **

_I do not!_

"Tea?"

Flinching and nodding at Kyouya's prompting, Tsuna hastily moved to cover up his bout of idleness. The dark-haired teen raised a brow but refrained from commenting, instead choosing to take a sip from his cup.

**Oh? He's made a lavender-valerian root blend this time**, Tsunayoshi noted with surprise. Inside of Tsuna's mind, he appeared to cock his head and consider the drink. "It smells good," murmured the mental manifestation of Tsuna's sky flames, his intonation a bit thick and slurred, as if drowsy. Tsunayoshi took a sip. "Tastes good too. Not too sweet."

Unsurprised, Kyouya quirked a smile and inhaled the steam still wafting from the teacup in his hand. "Hello, Tsunayoshi."

"How is life, Hibari-san?" He politely inquired. "Kusakabe isn't giving you too much trouble, is he?" With a smirk on his face, the brunet gestured to the unconscious blond.

"Fine, all told. There's just been a case of stolen identities lately. I'm working it all out. How about your end? I haven't seen—" **or heard,** Tsunayoshi intuited, "—from you in a while."

That was what both Tsuna and Tsunayoshi liked about their childhood friend—or rather, one aspect to his complex whole. Hibari-san cared for both equally, managing to know where one distinguished from the other and when both crept into one. Shrewd was the word, but Tsuna preferred to call the frightful justice-seeker sharp and clever instead.

It was then, however, that Tsuna gently yanked back control over his body and opened his mouth. "My father visited recently," he explained a bit morosely. "He left last night without telling us, so I figured, 'Hey, I can hang out at Kyouya's house and do some more of _that_.'"

_That_, of course, being flame manipulation. But considering the fact that the pair weren't alone—or the only two conscious bodies in the room anymore—Tsuna had decided to censor now and address the queasy blond on the ground.

Kyouya beat him to the punch, quite literally punching the top of the Disciplinary Committee Vice-Chairman's head. "Hn," he grunted irritably, "It's getting too easy to incapacitate you. Train some more before you decide to do something stupid again. Better yet, don't do something stupid ever."

Disoriented, Kusakabe-kun opened his mouth, then closed it. Quite visibly, Kyouya was pleased by this.

"Go clear things up. It's hard enough to be around loud herbivore without biting them to death, but that one's too injured to chance being around me." The prefect kicked his second-in-command with an audible thump. "Go."

And Kusakabe-kun went. Tsuna cocked his head. Tsunayoshi smirked. "It's Sasagawa-san, isn't it?" Spoke the latter, smiling knowingly. "The one with white hair?"

Kyouya paused and considered the elementary schooler. "You've seen him before."

"He runs around a lot in my peripheral vision. Tsuna doesn't notice, but I tend to see more than he does."

_Stop bragging, you special complex. We all know you're my intuition!_

Huffing a laugh, Tsunayoshi took a sip of the tea. **Well, well, jealous of little old me?**

"Hmm," hummed the adolescent across from the brunet, swirling his tea in his cup with languid ease. "Tsuna, stop feeling inadequate. Case-in-point, you're both each other, therefore whatever insults you pitch at him are moot."

…**Sometimes I wonder if we're too open or if Hibari-san is too good at noticing things,** Tsunayoshi mused after a moment of stunned silence. **He's not like us—like me—but he's pretty close.**

_He's Kyouya,_ Tsuna projected reasonably, pouting at the boy in question and flicking a bright orange ember at him. "Stop looking so smug."

"Who, me?" And yeah, still smug. Kyouya rested his check on his hand before yawning widely, not bothering to cover his mouth at all. "Why, I never." He snorted. "So how are you?"

"All good. Couldn't be better. /M not weak, after all," Tsuna answered laughingly with false cheer, omitting how poor he truly felt; Kyouya didn't like weaknesses after all, and admitting that his father's absence—after all these years—hurt more than he'd thought, that would be weak. _I mean, Kisuke-san and Tsubame-san aren't here anymore either, and Kyouya doesn't complain about it._ To take his mind off of the matter, he took a longer draught of tea with his next sip. The warm tea soothed whatever nerves he'd acquired before coming to the prefect's house. After a momentary sigh, the Vongola heir looked up to see his friend smiling uncharacteristically widely. "Wh-What?"

"Nn? Nothing," Kyouya denied, still grinning. "It's nothing."

The sparkles behind him looked like they came straight out of a shoujo manga. Quite frankly, Tsuna felt disturbed.

**It's like toner,** Tsunayoshi observed.

_Like prince toner_, Tsuna agreed, _like I can reach out and touch the stars. How is that possible?_

"Nee, Tsu-kun," the tonfa-wielder began dangerously, his smile still bright and plastic on his face, "Remember when we first met?"

A drop of sweat rolled down Tsuna's face. _Do you have any idea what's up?_

**I have a guess,** Tsunayoshi whispered nervously.

"…Yes?" Truth be told, Tsuna didn't remember everything. The thing about memories was that they could be fickle—therefore Tsuna only half recalled that instance. When the thought came up, he felt the emotions of that day; fear, sorrow, self-depreciation, and loneliness were some to name a few. He didn't remember any of the words spoken between the two, yet the relief he had felt, the joy and self indulgence of holding Kyouya's hand came back like a wave. How funny memories were, he thought, to be so blurry yet so clear.

"You're a leech," admitted Kyouya rather bluntly, pointing a rude finger at him. "From the beginning I never planned to befriend you."

…_Eh?_

…**Oh.**

"The world works in strange ways—I don't get what I want, just what I don't want to get. You've known me for all of these years already. I never wanted to be your friend."

Tsuna felt his chest deflate like a bag. "…Really." His voice came out tiny and strangled, and even thought he knew the fact—had known but not acknowledged it for a long time—it was hard to hear the words pouring forth from his best friend's lips.

_I-I mean, Kyouya's pretty antisocial, huh? He doesn't really like herbivores like me, and, and—is he… We haven't seen him in a while. Is he going to tell us he doesn't want to be friends with a weakling anymore?_

Stoically, Tsunayoshi revealed nothing.

Kyouya leaned forward so that he could rest his elbows on the table. His yukata sleeves hung off of the edge of the table like little gray flags, and Tsuna found that he couldn't look away. Anywhere was fine other than the older boy's face.

"You're weak, nearly spineless, and everyone thinks you're useless. You trip over your two feet, and you can't even remember the simplest of formulas in mathematics. Why would I have wanted to be your friend?"

Belatedly, Tsuna noticed that his vision was blurry. He wanted to wipe at his eyes, but then that would admit that he was crying, and Tsuna couldn't do that.

"So why am I your friend?"

"…I don't know." Why _was_ he Tsuna's friend anyway? Kyouya was cool and collected and intelligent. Strong, too, _very_ strong, and influential. Tsuna was just… Some random kid with connections to the mafia. What was so good about him?

"Exactly. You don't know." Kyouya dropped his smile with a pause. "It's because of what I saw that day."

…_?_

Continuing softly, the prefect's expression betrayed a faraway place in his mind, as if his memories had taken him and swallowed him whole. "You were unhappy. Scared. Tiny, weak, helpless. But there was something about you that I couldn't leave behind. Why was that? And then I realized after meeting with you later that I wasn't wrong of my earlier conceptions. You're clumsy and a bit slow. What made you so different?

"It's because you were afraid of me. Terrified, actually. But you didn't run away. You clung to me instead, like a starfish. At the time I thought that I would help you because I wanted to redeem myself in a way. In a way, I'm still redeeming myself with you. But that's not it." He blinked and his face seemed almost open in a way, like the enclosed emotions within his heart were pouring forth from his eyes. Tsuna couldn't breathe. This, here, was Hibari Kyouya showing weakness.

Tsuna could not believe his eyes.

"You accept me for who I am. You hold no expectations, no ulterior motives, nothing. Just acceptance. I respected that, but there was another thing. You, herbivore," Kyouya revealed with exasperation, "don't know anything. You take public words at face value, and that influences how you think. But you intrigued and redeemed me, so I said nothing.

"Did I not tell you that I don't tolerate idiots? Why have I stuck with you for all of these years? Because I'm benevolent?" He hissed. "I also hate liars." Here, the boy snapped and yanked at Tsuna's collar, shaking his slightly. "I—"

All motion stopped. Kyouya hesitated and closed his mouth. Opened it. Closed it again.

"Damn it." Clearly, this anger counted as 'strong emotion,' which was why Kyouya's arms suddenly burned with bright red patches. "Never mind. Just… Stop hiding emotions from me. You're the only person I know who doesn't lie. Don't start now."

Frustratedly, Kyouya dropped the brunet and dashed out of the room.

…_What was that?_

Tsunayoshi watched him go.

"That was him trying to tell you to stop being so self-conscious around him. Hibari-san hates them, you know. Lies."

**He's feeling very betrayed right now,** were the words unspoken in their shared mind.

**{KHR18KHR}**

"Fuck it, damn it, screw it all to hell!" I threw a tonfa at the watch and watched with vague satisfaction as it embedded itself deep into the wall. My leg swept out to knock over a training dummy, and I punched and kicked at whatever I could see. My arms itched. My legs itched. My teeth itched.

Everything about me felt itchy.

I tasted blood. Must have bitten my lip earlier.

This lack of articulation was really annoying me. Really, really pissing me off. I destroyed a wall, but that was okay; I could hire someone to repair it for free. I demolished another training dummy. "Fucking damn it!"

How does one put into words how pissed off he feels? I yanked my tonfa out of the wall and swung at the air. The mass of energy swirling inside of me wanted out, wanted to be released, wanted to burn and destroy and _kill_. I wasn't some little girl. I wasn't some weak pansy that was too embarrassed to say anything.

"You stupid fucking curse!" _Creakgroansmash_. Down went a support beam. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! Fuck! What's wrong with me?!"

I had wanted to say the words earlier. They had hung on a precipice at the tip of my tongue, ready to jump off. I wanted to yell at Tsuna, to get him to trust me for fuck's sake—because what the hell was a trust that didn't include acceptance—and to punch in in the face. All in that order. I wanted to berate him, lecture him, tell him that I wouldn't leave him just because he was weak.

I'd invested myself in him. I'd made him my emotional crutch.

And after everything, I couldn't believe I had made him my weakness.

"You fucking idiot." _**SNAP**_. I felt my wrist give under all of this pressure, but the pain was negligible to the frustration pent up inside me. "You moron."

My flames curled around the injury—injuries.

I could barely breathe.

.

.

.

**OMAKE**

"What are you doing."

Tetsuya turned to me with a happy, blissful expression on his face. His eyes sparkled disturbingly. "What do you think?" He twirled around with his hands in the air, then struck a pose. "Do I look cool?

"You're wearing samurai getup. What are you doing."

"Kyo-saaaaann! It's Halloween! Get in the spirit! It's a night for terror and mayhem, for candy and self expression! Come on, Kyo-san, why don't you put on a costume too?"

"Realize the dissonance between those last words of yours, herbivore. I don't put on costumes."

"Wh-Whyyyy? It's fun! Come on! Look, I bet Tsuna-san is doing something for Halloween too! Hey, I'll call him over, and we can go explore the marketplace together!"

"That is crowding," I deadpanned. "I don't crowd, nor would I want to mix in with other crowds."

"B-But…!"

I rolled my eyes and retreated to my room. Ugh. I'd never liked Halloween anyway.

.

"Boo—OW! K-K-Ky-Kyouuuuu….~? Why—Why did you hit me?"

I blinked the last vestiges of sleep from my eyes before frowning. "Tsu-kun? What are you doing in my room?" …This was my room, right? I yawned and sat up, putting down my tonfa.

Across from me, sitting close enough to choke me, was Tsuna. Only he didn't look like the Tsuna that I knew. There was something off about him. Squinting in the darkness, I tilted my head. …But what?

"The hell are you supposed to be?"

Proudly puffing out his chest, the twelve-year-old grinned. "Uwan-san! I'm a ghost!"

And sure enough, foxfire lingered around him, most likely propelled by Tsunayoshi's control. A triangular headband sat on his forehead, and he stretched out his arms as if posing like a zombie. "Aren't I scary?" He chirped.

I stared at him for a bit longer, then flopped back onto my futon, taking him down with me. Ahh, warmth. "Not at all," I said with a yawn. "Hmm." My arm curled around his shoulders, and he radiated heat like a hot water bottle.

"Eh? Kyouya? What are you doing? Oi, Kyouya! Hey! Don't just fall asleep!"

Halloween was boring and impractical. But this time, I supposed, it wasn't that bad.

"Kyouya!"

.

.

.

**A/N: Fuck this chapter. Like seriously. I'm so late it's not even funny.**

**And some angst. Because Kyouya's not super duper happy and able to say everything he wants. There's a lot of frustration stemming from not being able to say what you want when you could do so earlier.**

**Not much Wase this chapter. Some Ryohei (I didn't forget! There's more next chapter!). Tsuna took over, actually. Eh.**

**This was written in the last three days. Because life is a bitch.**

**Happy Halloween, guys. I went around as Basil, by the way, taking candy from strangers.**

**'Cause that's what I do.**

**Fuck it. **

**QUESTION: I really want to keep this GEN, but are there any pairings you want me to add fanservice for? The 1827 in this chapter tho. That was unintended. **


	15. Chapter 15

Do As You Like Chapter Fifteen

"Nn—ngaah—! O-Oi, Kyouya—_aah!_"

I smirked evilly and pushed down harder, grabbing his arms and bending them behind his back. I heard a crack but didn't particularly care if I caused him any pain. After all, he had no right to complain.

My voice ghosted over his ear, and I blew into it, watching him squeak in surprise. "Tsu-kun," I whispered, tilting his head my way and wiping away a stray tear, "why are you crying?"

"I-I'm not cry—ah! Don't—_not_ there!"

My face smoothed over. "Now commencing punishment."

"Oi, oi, wait a momen—ahahahaHAHAH, WAIT, YOU _BASTARD_—"

"Now who are you calling a bastard?" I felt my nose scrunch up, and maliciously dug my fingers harder into his sides, wiggling so that the movement hurt just as much as it tickled. Beneath me, my prey mewled his protests, and kicked his legs out. Seeing as he lied face down, however, the motions did little to curb my actions.

"Kyou—AHAHAHAHA, NO, WAIT—ya, I'm telling you to st—OP! STAHP, STAHP, I'M BEGGING YOU—!"

"Why? When you deserve it and look so adorable?"

"What did I do to deserve this?!" he wailed, shaking his head. "I'm a guy, man! I don't _do_ adorable!"

"Says who? You? Your mother claims otherwise."

"I am not cute or adorable or so 'kawaii desu ne!' I'm a guy in pu—" As if staged, his voice cracked. "–berty!" The twelve-year-old pouted and stopped his thrashing as I leaned back slightly. His next words came out muffled against the duvet of his bed. "This is so wrong, you know."

I blinked and looked down. "Really?"

Straddling his hips, my hands on his waist as I bent over him, I pressed my cheek against his unruly hair. I used to do this all the time with Leo whenever he decided to be a brat. In fact, I had done this with Nika too, especially when she got annoying. Was there something wrong about this position?

_Click_. _Clickclick__**clickCLICK**_**.** I jerked back and turned toward the doorway.

"_Hiie!_ Ma—Mama! What are you doing?!" Tsuna shrieked loudly, squirming once more. With a camera in her hands, the rather young housewife smiled and took in the general scene.

I felt something cold trickled down my spine as she blatantly snapped another photo. "Don't let me disturb you, boys. I'm just here to record memories!" she exclaimed. Waving a hand, Nana laughed airily. "Go on, don't let me stop you!"

Um. …Okay? I shrugged and returned my gaze to the blanching rabbi—er. Tsuna is not a rabbit. Tsuna is not a rabbit. He is not the pet rabbit that I—

Eh. He's a rabbit, I decided.

"K-Kyou—_hiie!_ Stop it!" _Click_. "Oi, Mama! Stop—ahaHAHAHAHA—" _Click_. "AHAHAHAHA—"

_Click_. I laughed at his misfortune and tickled harder.

**{KHR18KHR}**

Sometimes I couldn't understand myself. Was I a magnificent jerk or could I be redeemed? Was I heartless or did I care too much? Was I coldblooded or warm? Was I really even who I was?

The thing about reincarnation, rebirth, cosmic mistakes, whatever it was called—it jumbled a lot of things together. The main issue tended to be the mind—nature versus nurture and social conditioning and all. I vaguely recalled being different but not quite opposite to the person I stood as today, with different likes and dislikes. I remembered living differently and not comprehending how others survived.

It was hard to know that the differences ran deeper than I had thought.

It had started out simply. My parents doted on me much more than my previous set. I could adapt to that. My looks had changed, but I had never been a vain person. Then I noticed a difference in dexterity, overall speed, and comprehension—I chalked it up to my youth and accepted that. It was an advantage, after all.

And then the culture. Immersion helped, but I came to love the traditional lifestyle. My old memories were just that—memories. I moved on.

The curse had surprised me, but again, adaptation.

Kisuke and Tsubame died. I made do with losing another set of parents.

Most of these differences between who I used to be and the Hibari Kyouya of present were mostly circumstantial and physical. Genetics, certainly, played a large role. While my mind warred slightly, I took to the changes like a duck to water, and up until now, I had never particularly cared or wanted to go back to my previous life.

But this—this change I hadn't quite expected.

Hives were one thing. They got in the way of my thoughts and emotions, but again, hives did not affect matters beyond being a physical annoyance. The curse was another—it flared, especially when presented with herbivores and weak things as well as hateful subjects.

Adaptability, adaptability, adaptability. How the hell was I meant to adapt to not being able to think?

To speak?

To verbalize my emotions?

For the first time, I found myself hating my life for being born like this, because that was it—_**he**_ had never been like this before.

_**I**_ had never been like this before.

And that… sucked, for lack of a better word.

After departing from Tsuna's home—

(—I always called it a home, because _house_ seemed so _lacking_—)

I made may way through the darkened streets and squinted around the setting sun. Night soon settled in the sky, the stars blearily picking themselves out of the gloom, and the air cooled with the awakening of the moon. The streetlights flickered to life around me, and the last stragglers of the day—an old man across the street and a young mother carrying groceries—tucked into their homes for the night.

And then I was alone.

Naturally, I inhaled the silence like it was a drug, tasting the solitude with relish; for someone who hated crowding, I sure consorted with the most attached of people. How long had it been since I had had time to myself? Time, though, was perhaps the wrong word—more like reflection. Yes, a moment of reflection. Exhaling against my fingers to retrieve lost circulation, I took my time on my path home.

Who is Hibari Kyouya?

I inhaled and blew. I am.

Who was he?

The heat sent tingles along the appendages. Not me.

Can I be him?

The quiet meshed with the surroundings until space felt like a vacuum, sucking time in along with it. …Maybe.

Do I want to be him?

I kicked a stray beer can into a nearby trashcan. Not really.

Will I be him?

I hesitated for a split second and masked the stutter in my gait with a leap over a wire fence.

…The better question would be if I should.

I knew the differences between my life and the story Nika had regaled to me once upon a time. My knowledge was severely lacking, I knew, but at the very least I had something to hold in my metaphysical hands. The… changes I had made towered over me like a large body of something not quite physical but not entirely emotional. Almost like a cloud. Almost.

The first, obviously, was Sawada Tsunayoshi. I tilted my head as I glanced up at the blackened sky, frowning at the murky darkness that stained my vision. Sawada Tsunayoshi, the Sawada that I pulled back with anamnesis, had never been quite so brash, never quite so impudent or childish or accepting. This was a great difference—the largest one that I could sense. Tsuna held onto his childhood fiercely, resisting so that his peace would remain with him for as long as he wished.

Then again, the boy was only twelve. Only time would tell what would happen to that petulance of his come the dawning of his story.

Story. Hah. I looked down at my palm—too pale for my liking, but calloused enough for me to not care—and clenched it into a fist. The dampness of the surrounding breeze rested against my skin, and I felt like I could pull and be able to gather something there. Something cold and refreshing, something real and concrete. I let the limb drop to my tonfa to run fingers along the smooth and slightly dented weapons, to prod at the scratches that came with years of use.

With my fist clenched just so, the pulse in my fingers amplified enough that I could feel it without meaning to. Hibari Kyouya was real. He existed. He inhaled and exhaled just as I had done in my prior life, and bled and survived the same.

I existed.

And punched the wall, because I did not just go through another existential crisis.

**{KHR18KHR}**

My face was devoid of any jesting as I pinned my blond vice-chairman to the wall with the end of my tonfa. "You are not to take no for an answer. You are not to be blown to the side, and most importantly, you will not allow this farce to continue for any longer."

The bespectacled teenager gulped, sending a brief vibration along the metal baton. "H-Hai."

I squinted at him, eyes hidden by a thunderous shadow. "…Good." Removing the tonfa, I stepped away. "Run along now."

Tetsuya ran off, much to my satisfaction. I never got tired of hitting him for some reason. Was his body therapeutic or something?

("No, absolutely not! Kyouya, you're just way too sadistic!")

"…And you lot," I began menacingly, crossing my arms and glaring down at the worthless, spineless fools that cowered before me. Each and every one of them—all fifty of the blonds—sat in seiza, one step away from dogeza. Sweat lined their brows, and not a single one did not fidget.

One squeaked. Someone shushed him, much to my amusement.

"What did I tell you about haste?" I demanded, the question more of an order than an actual inquiry. "Tell me now before I bite the crowd of you to death."

"H-Haste makes waste! Don't rush in without thinking!"

I threw a tonfa at the answering second-year (Takada Something-or-other) and smirked as he fell backward with a yelp. "Wrong. Haste is irrelevant compared to skill. Rush in all you want… so long as you have the skill to back it up." Sneering, I twisted my other tonfa to send a chain out and latch onto the former projectile weapon. "Does this crowd have anything to say about that?"

"W-We're sorry, Iinchou! We didn't mean to rush in without thinking and without the skill to back ourselves up!"

"Hn. Reflect on your actions," I grunted, slipping my tonfa back in their holsters. They'd attacked Sasagawa—overly energetic, smack-you-in-the-face-non-malicious Sasagawa. And for what? Because they'd thought that he wanted to beat up Tetsuya?

Granted, that was probably because of the head blond, but who were they to think that my vice-chairman was weak enough to be beaten by a measly little first-year?

(Even though Tetsuya himself was one as well.)

Hn. If they had thought it through, one of my wards wouldn't be in the hospital for no reason, and fifty of my arm… committee members wouldn't also be halfway there. Idiots. I sighed as I withdrew my phone and began inputting a number without realizing it.

Wait, since when did I come to think of the Nami Chuu students as one of my wards? Though I held all Namimori citizens under my wing, I had never quite… claimed something so blatantly as my own. This was weird, but not entirely unwanted, I supposed.

Still. Possessiveness didn't really suit me. I wasn't the type to go around _claiming_ things, after all.

…Right?

"…Kyouya? Is that you? Did you need something?"

I blinked and reared back in faint alarm. Staring at my hand—from my hand to my phone—I slowly brought the device back to my ear. "Tsu-kun? Ah, I didn't mean to call you."

"S-So you didn't really need anything?" He sounded hopeful over the line. Or maybe that was just the sound quality. "No favors? Requests? Opportunities for blackmail?"

… "What?"

He coughed and cleared his throat. "S-Sorry, I said, 'celebrations for birthdays'?"

Looking dubiously at my phone, I frowned bemusedly. "No… no celebrations. Why would you ask about birthdays of all things—you know I don't celebrate birthdays without prompting."

"Oh, uh…" I heard a faint '_hiie_' from the other side. "It, h-haha, it doesn't matter! So what's up?"

I shook my head and leaned against a wall, bringing a hand up to shield against the flickering light of the noonday sun. "Ah, no. I didn't mean to call you. I'll hang up now."

"W-Wait!" he called out just as I was about to end the call. "Um…"

Patiently, I waited. "Nn?"

"Uh… Everything going okay?"

"Tsu-kun," I began slowly, brow marginally inching upward, "I saw you yesterday. Yes, everything is fine."

He fidgeted loudly, doing something with his papers before sighing. "I—but—oh, fine, you bossy bastard! Uh! K-Kyouya, about last, um, week," he tentatively stammered, exhaling noticeably, "I… Tsunayoshi, that is, well, both of us… I wanna apologize!"

I stiffened.

"Hey, I mean, I know I'm kinda weak and all, and you know me—have known me for nearly seven years now and all, hahaha—so you know how I can get, and apparently Tsunayoshi's been pointing this out to you when I'm asleep or something, how weird is that, and so I, uh, erghm, well, you _know_ what happened last week, I don't have to tell you do I, oh Kami I don't think I have to, _**do I**_, ahahaha, so uh, I know you can't really express yourself—I mean, 'Yoshi's been saying that, not me, but maybe me too since we're the same person, ehehe, so I, uh, also know you're really perceptive, Hibari-san, so I wanna apologize 'cause I think I really hurt you for lying about how I was and all, uh, _not to say that you got hurt because of that or anything_ because you're really strong and all, and—"

I pinched the bridge of my nose as he rambled. "Breathe."

"HHHUUUUUUUHHH—haaah. S-Sorry."

"I would say 'don't mention it,' but then I'd be lying. Don't… do that again."

Tsuna whimpered. "Yeah. Sorry. I got out of hand."

My silence told him to go on.

"…Kyouya?"

Or maybe not. "Continue," I commanded. "…Actually, don't. I think I got the gist of what you're trying to say."

Which was absolutely unnecessary and about as surprising as being knocked out by Sasagawa on one of his off days (which would be, to say, completely surprising though improbable). I closed my eyes and listened to his breathing, not feeling quite ready to speak. His breath hitched nervously, and I waited a minute before responding.

"Hey, Kyo—"

"I—"

We both cut ourselves short.

"…"

Scowling, I gripped the handheld device for a little bit longer. "You go first."

Tsuna squeaked. "O-Okay. Um. Do you wanna… Do _it?_ Since we didn't get to last time?"

A moment of hesitance hovered over my shoulders before I shook it off and answered, "Sure. But I don't think I have the control to keep from burning anything down today." Like last week where I had reduced a fourth of my home to ashes. "You'll be the only one practicing."

Tsuna hummed. "Yeah, I kinda expected that. Don't worry, I won't force you to do anything—"

"Who's forcing who?" I rolled my eyes and smiled slightly. "You're getting cheeky."

"Hmph! I'm always cheeky!"

"You're sitting in your room surrounded by two-and-a-half stacks of unfinished homework, wearing your favorite hooded sweater and eating from a plate of Nana-san's biscuits right now. I know you're feeling rather safe right at the moment, but I can easily remedy that and go over there right now to punish you again, this time by punting your face into a wall."

"…Hibari-san, your threats are getting more and more intimidating and harmless each time. I don't know how to respond to that other than _are you a stalker?_"

And now I was miffed. "Goodbye, Tsunayoshi. Tsuna, I'll see you in two hours."

I ended the call. Took a moment to gaze at the view Nami Chuu's roof gave me.

Blinked and cursed softly.

"…Fuck. Now I need to go hit my therapy bunny."

**{KHR:)KHR}**

"I'm hooooome~!" Wase slammed the shoji door to the side, throwing his book bag haphazardly onto the tatami mats before leaping into the Hibari (plus Shiya) household. "Kyouya-kun, I bring food! It's that soki soba from that store you really like!"

The tantalizing scent of the noodles wafted into the air, permeating the household with a light and savory aroma. The doctor-turned-hospital-director beamed as he caught a whiff of the redolence and hummed happily to himself as he placed the bag of food on the kitchen table. "Kyouya-kun?" he called bemusedly after a period of silence. "Kyou—"

"Mn, _what?_" Rubbing his eyes, the formerly missing fourteen-year-old indolently ambled into the room. "Oh, food." He dazedly made grabbing motions with his hands. "Gimme."

Wase resisted the urge to laugh. Oh, Kyouya-kun, you're so not threatening right now it's not even funny, he thought to himself. Wait, food was more important than the man who kept the boy from falling into the clutched of the Chinese Triads. Oh, that was not fair. "What, no hello for your favorite guardian?"

"…You're my _only_ guardian."

"Heeeellllooooo?"

Making a discontented noise in the back of his throat, Kyouya stopped rubbing his eyes to glower at the older man. "Give me. Food. Now. I'm hungry."

"But Kyouya-kun," Wase wheedled, "I haven't seen you in two days and you don't even—"

"Wase, welcome back, I missed you!" Kyouya-kun took a running start and pounced on the startled man, knocking them both to the ground. In a split second his face darkened and he looked on with disgust apparent in his expression. "Try asking me again and I'll neuter you like the dog you are," he hissed, holding a—pointy, oh-so-very-pointy—tonfa to the doctor's neck.

"Gegh."

Then the prefect yawned and crawled off, because Wase apparently wasn't worth any extra effort. "Hmn." The teenager scratched his sleep-induced messy head of hair and drifted over to the source of the aroma in the air. "Soba. From Kanzaki's?"

"You bet," Wase chirruped, unfazed as he drew himself up to his feet. "Got it on a discount—more than usual, I mean," he added at Kyouya-kun's unimpressed look. Already the boy had removed the noodles from their containers, and now he twirled his chopsticks in the looping mess to mix the noodles around in the still steaming broth. Immediately his eyes had honed in on the stewed pork, fingers moving to grapple the item almost before any conscious thought.

Typical Kyouya-kun. Only caring about the meat.

"Regular carnivore, are you?" Wase huffed. "I think we'll have some shabu shabu tomorrow."

With his mouth full, Kyouya-kun tilted his head. He swallowed. "Shabu shabu?" The teen considered this for a moment. "Wait, you'll be home tomorrow too?"

Wase shrugged carelessly. "I did some work in advance to get a few days off. I feel like I've been neglecting you lately, so…"

"Hn. Who's been neglecting who?" Kyouya-kun snorted and passed the man his portion of the meal as he kneeled down at the table. "Here."

"Ah, thanks, Kyouya-kun."

"Mn. …My patrol passes by the marketplace around seven tomorrow, so I'll buy the meat for the shabu shabu then."

"Hm? You don't have to. I specifically got work off for a reason…"

Almost uncomfortably, Kyouya-kun shifted in his seat on the cushion. "You've been… overworking yourself lately. I'll buy it. Just take a rest then."

It was times like this when Wase realized that his not-quite-but-somewhat charge wasn't exactly the bloodthirsty and unthinking monster that most of Namimori made him out to be. The boy had his moments, sure, and those times Wase suffured from broken bones or internal bleeding for inciting his wrath, but this… Kyouya-kun was only fourteen. The lanky man felt the inexplicable (and dangerous) urge to pat his ward on the head.

"Thanks," he said instead of risking his life during such a good moment. "You'll be cooking as per usual?"

"As if I'd let you anywhere near a stove without me nearby," Kyouya-kun jibed.

"I take offense to that."

"And do you think I care?"

Well then. Brat. "Hey, what did you do today?"

Kyouya-kun took another bite, then frowned. "Don't 'hey' me. And nothing out of the ordinary. I went over the Tsuna's for a bit today."

Tsuna's place again? Wase contemplated the strange duo for a moment—their natures didn't fit in the slightest after all, and the age gap, while small, didn't really allow for much interaction during school hours where most kids made their friends—then dismissed his thoughts. Kyouya-kun could do whatever he wanted when Wase wasn't there. Well, barring risking his life, of course.

Risking the lives of others, on the other hand…

"What are you two always doing over there, anyway? Does it have anything to do with the remodeling you did on the western wing a few days ago? Because I swear, if you two are practicing to become pyromaniacs, I'll…" Wase faltered at Kyouya-kun's silence. "Wait, seriously? You two are messing around with fire?"

"It doesn't burn unless I tell it to," the dark-haired boy murmured petulantly, as if regretting giving himself away so easily.

Wase gaped and put down his bowl lest the contents spilled all over the floor. "That's what they all say! Kids these days," he sighed, rubbing his temples, "always trying to do things they—"

Oh?

Oh.

_Oh._

Wase blinked and jerked away from his accusation to stare at his housemate. Kyouya-kun looked about as startled as Wase did, though for entirely different reasons. The man—_former-retired-not-actually-dead assassin_—opened his mouth and weakly raised a hand. His mouth was dry.

"…You two learned how to access your dying will flames."

And then shit hit the—proverbial because they didn't have one—fan.

**{KHR18KHR}**

I was taking this surprisingly well given my past track record.

A little _too_ well. I suspected my calm came half due to my manners and half due to how soba broth _really_ wouldn't look good on the traditional bamboo walls.

So.

Calm.

I sat patiently as Wase explained everything, about how he had gotten involved with the underground, about how he had learned about flames, and about how he had inevitably thrown it all away to become a doctor.

About how this was going to pull him back.

_Wase sighed. "This… This is problematic."_

_I grunted in reply. "You're telling me."_

"_No, you…" The doctor shook his head and scratched his neck. "This isn't as bad as you're making it out to be be. It's _worse_. Don't you get it? At any given moment at any given time, only five hundred and forty-four thousand, four hundred and thirty-nine wave-sensitive people exist on this planet. Do you have any idea how little that is when you take statistics into account? We have over seven billion people on Earth right now—wave-sensitives make up point zero-zero-seven percent of our population. Flame users make up even less of that."_

_He grabbed my shoulders and stared straight into my eyes, his blue irises shining intently—like they wanted to sear the magnitude of the situation into my mind. "Kyouya-kun, the Triads _aren't going to just give up on you_ if—no, _**when**_—they find out. You're too valuable now."_

_I frowned and pulled back. "Should I be scared?" I'd been taking down yakuza members for years now—what did the Triads have that the yakuza didn't? Certainly, the organizations were bigger… and perhaps darker. But what? I lived in Japan, not China, and I could protect myself easily._

_Wase groaned. "No, no, don't give me that look. You're being mulish. Kyouya-kun, no matter how strong you are, no fourteen-year-old is enough to take on thousands upon thousands of professional killers and criminals. Not even you."_

_Scowling now, I crossed my arms and began tapping against my bicep. I opened my mouth._

"_I'm not calling you weak!" the man rushed out before pouting at me. "Is that all you can think about? Strength? As your one time minder and caretaker for the stability of your mind, I have to wonder why you care so much about power."_

_My eyes shifted to the side, tracing the movement of a buzzing mosquito. It landed on a nearby picture frame—my favorite picture—and rested there. Across from me, Wase shifted into a more comfortable position—legs crossed and back slouched, a hand once again cupping his bowl of food._

"_I'm a Hibari," I said, as if that explained everything. And, like most times where I explained away my behavior, the excuse wasn't exactly… an excuse._

_Wase's mouth shrunk into a little 'o' of comprehension. "The… creeds, I believe Tsubame-san called them?"_

_I flinched a little at the sound of her name and nodded. I was never going to lose that jolt of pain at her memory, was I? Or the fact that I had never told her my thanks for raising me, for loving me, for doting on a problematic child like me. Or that she had died because of me._

_Nope, not thinking about that._

"_Yes, the creeds." My eyes cast another look at the mosquito; it was still there, lingering, and I frowned before grabbing a dry grain of rice (eugh, Wase was neglecting his cleaning duties a bit too much) and knocking it from its perch with a timely throw. What little blood the insect had poached splattered across the shiny and well-kept glass._

_With a grimace, I turned back to my… guardian._

_Wase was like one of those symbiotic things, a helper and a dependent source, an enforcer and a weak link. He was easy to like, easy to harm, and easy to underestimate. Some way or another, the man had—I hesitated to say wormed, because it was more of a drill and drill crack plunge—made his way under my defenses and proceeded to pull and prod and pinch at me. He irritated me, and yet whenever I contemplated throwing him away, he pulled at our connection: my parents._

_It was a bit cowardly, now that I reminisced at a greater distance, but not unfounded and certainly not unwanted. Now, that is; I could sooner catch the man in a fair fight then than get myself to admit that I had liked him for being him. Using that connection, however, he built more. And more and more and more until I couldn't let him go._

_I kind of hated him and admired him for his tenacity, if nothing else._

"_She mentioned them once before," said the black-haired man as he hummed and picked at the still somewhat warm noodles in his bowl. A chopstick speared a bit of pork through its fleshy center and proceeded to lift it up to Wase's awaiting mouth. He chewed, then swallowed. "Let's see… Hibari are free. Hibari live as they please. Hibari never fail. Hibari protect. Am I right?"_

"_Quoted almost verbatim," I commented with a hint of surprise. So my mother had actually listed them; that was… odd, but not that shocking to know that she had trusted him that much to reveal such a closing factor to our family's point of honor. "What do you think about them?"_

_Wase smiled a bit, a faint ghost on the lips that lent him a melancholy feel. _

_(That was right—they had also been friends, hadn't they?)_

"_They're important to you. When did you learn about them?"_

"_When I was six or thereabouts," I responded, studying him from my seat. "What do you think about them?" I repeated._

_With that smile still on his face, Wase poked my forehead with the butt of his chopsticks and put down his bowl. It was still nearly full, barely picked at. "I think," he drew out, "that the person who dictated these laws was a sagacious and foolhardy man."_

_I stiffened. "Enlighten me on that."_

"_He created those creeds as guidelines, and they are in a way. They ensured the freedom of thought for his descendants and for the most part, that is usually the only freedom that a person needs." The doctor absently twirled the chopsticks around between his fingers, twisting and spinning them over and over like miniature batons. "But they also force the descendants to believe that they must be free, that they must do what they want, that they must protect. It weighs them down with conditions."_

_For a moment there I stared at him, hackles raised, before I deflated and set my soba aside. The bowl felt cold against my fingers. "I know," I muttered, looking down at my calloused fingers. I inspected my nails, lips pursed as I picked bits of dirt from under the blunt ends. "I know that."_

_I lived that._

_So I changed the subject._

"_Tell me what you know about dying will flames."_

"_Ah. That's a tricky demand there, Kyouya-kun."_

"_You promised me. Don't back out now."_

_A troubled look flitted over his face, sending a momentary flash of something-like-guilt-but-not-quite thorough me before it disappeared and I relaxed again._

"_It's… it's a long explanation. And for me to explain, I'll have to go a bit into detail about my history. I'm sure you don't want to know the little details of a thirty-five-year-old man's life."_

"_Wase."_

_He sighed again, the breath sounding a bit heavier this time. "Okay, okay…"_

_Wase had grown up in a backwater town in the middle of nowhere with little more than books and marbles to play with. He had come as a surprise—a welcome blessing—to his parents, for the couple had long since passed their prime and any hopes of children along with the time. For the better part of his formative years, he was an inquisitive child, always asking things like most children were wont to do, but for some reason he was a bit… different. Smarter than usual. Faster than usual. Keener than usual. The villagers shook off his brilliance by blaming it on something in the water. _

_It was a shame, they cried, that such a bright boy would never amount to anything. The Shiya family, after all, were dirt poor._

_So Wase worked. He sold all of his books away once he read them enough times to memorize them—which, truth be told, only took two or three run-throughs—and purchased new books, practical books. He purchased any books that he could find on plant biology, on how to care for the seeds he smuggled from one of the bigger towns over. He wanted to make his parents happy—to make them smile with the emotion that was his namesake. Shiya Wase. Shiawase. Surely, his parents had chosen a wonderful name._

_(A wonderful name for a wonderful boy, they boasted._

_He glanced up at them with large, scrutinizing eyes. Why? he asked._

_Why, you're a premonition in the making! I'm sure you'll see the brightest, most beautiful smile if you put your mind into cultivating it!)_

_At fifteen, Wase ran the family farm, functioning as the sole worker to ease his ailing father's worries. _

"_Don't worry, everything will be fine." He smiled reassuringly._

"_Hey," said he, giving thumbs ups to whoever felt the need to inquire of his health, "it's all good." And he smiled again._

_He smiled, sweat pouring down his face and seeping into his sopping clothes as he plucked the fruits from the trees with startling accuracy, one after the other until kilometers of the orchard were cleared within a matter of days. Maybe one day if he felt up to the task. "Don't you worry."_

_As expected, Wase smiled a lot. People believed him. It never occurred to him that he should feel bad about lying, because the smiles always made them look so relieved. Even his parents. Especially his parents._

_They could barely move—the both of them—by the eve of his sixteenth birthday. They couldn't smile anymore—couldn't do anything but drink the water he provided for them and eat the congee he learned to make after weeks of burning wet rice. _

_And a week after that, they died together in the same night._

_Shiya Wase felt cheated, somewhat. Years and years of backbreaking labor to see the brightest smile that he could find, and… nothing. It was a hopeful dream, he told himself later. Smiles didn't matter. They couldn't do anything._

_('Wa' translates to 'fresh child's laughter,' while 'se' comes from 'free and easy.')_

_Wase packed up his things a week after he buried them in their orchard, the both of them gently placed side-by-side at the foot of the oldest and sweetest apple tree the family owned. He left his little backwater village in the middle of nowhere soon after and, as he had never made any friends in between his frantic working, never looked back to see what he had left behind other than two decomposing bodies providing nourishment for fruit that no longer mattered._

_He travelled to many places: Europe, West Asia, the Americas, Oceania, little islands here and there, the populated and the solitary. Wase kept on the move for three years, until one day he decided to settle down in Italy—the home of the paternal grandfather whom he had received his blue eyes from, whom had never visited him and lied holed up in this beautiful country. He set up base in Florence, Sicily, and did odd jobs, jobs relating skills that he had picked up over time. _

_And then That Job came in._

_Steal this document—it's hardly guarded, but very important, they demanded, presenting him with a large case of euros. The bills all lined up neatly, and reeked of the new-money smell that Wase found he didn't like too much of. But he accepted, because rent was getting too high, and he didn't really get that much money anyway._

_Hardly guarded, they had said. Wase killed a man to get that file, and when they paid him, he tasted the bitter sensation of bile on his tongue. One hundred thousand euros—was that the worth of a man's life?_

_After That Job, apparently the original customers had let wind of his penchant for doing any and all odd jobs. A couple trickled in with propositions like the first. _

_Steal this._

_Take this._

_Place this there._

_Frame this person._

_Get this code._

_**Kill this person.**_

_Somehow or other, Shiya Wase from that backwater village in the middle of nowhere had gotten ensnared in the web that comprised the underworld, and like a helpless butterfly, could not find a way out._

_They made him fight._

_Kill some more._

_Steal, avenge, spite—he did those too. And then it all got too much and he, Shiya Wase who didn't really know much beyond odd skills and how to nurture an apple tree, finally said the wrong thing at the wrong time._

"_Spare him, father. I think we can make use of this one."_

_She had been beautiful in that deadly sort of way that demanded all of his attention, the kind of beauty that sliced and was all angles and danger. With her jet back hair—the shade that came from the darkness of the new moon, the pitch black a bit darker than night and darkness itself—she flitted into the room like a night firefly, her brown eyes brightening the room even as they darkened it. Sultry was a perfect word for her. Willowy and supple._

_Wase didn't love her, no, but he felt that if she tried, he could have. But she didn't and he didn't care, so he never fell. He was caught, certainly, for Xun Tsubame of the Ink Dragon Triad stole the souls of all who encountered her, but never trapped. Perhaps that had been for the best._

"_Welcome to the family, little brother," she told him with a happy and stiff smile that oxymoronically filled him with warmth and emptiness at the same time. "Come, let me show you to our other siblings."_

_It was odd, he thought, but not enough to push him away. He'd already killed—what was a few more in exchange for his life? Like his formative years, Wase soaked up all of the information that they could divulge to him. Martial arts. Breathing techniques. Bloodline secrets. Wave energy. Flames. The power to kill._

_And to heal._

"_That's a sun flame. It's beautiful, isn't it?"_

_Wase gave Tsubame an aside glance. "Really?" He juggled it for a moment and rubbed his fingers against the little stars around the flame. "Looks like yellow fire to me."_

_Tsubame shrugged languidly in the way that she did without looking uncultured. "It heals. That's good."_

_Taking a final look at the ball of fire in his hands, Wase extinguished it and faced her. "Heals…" he echoed. "That's a property, isn't it? Then what do you have? Not the sun, from what you've implied."_

_Mysteriously, the princess raised a hand to her lips and laughed. "Would you like to see? Truly?"_

"_Yes!" It shocked the boy—man—to hear how eager he was. "Um, please, princess."_

_She hummed and fanned out her fingers. "Well then, watch closely, dì. This…"_

_A little blood red rose bloomed at her fingertips and twisted outward like the spines of her tessen._

"…_Is a storm flame."_

For the first time since he had begun his story, I interrupted him. "Storm flame? She… She knew about the flames?"

He tilted his head. "Why wouldn't she have known? Fon is her brother."

I opened my mouth, then clamped it shut. Nodded for him to continue.

"Well… There isn't much left to say. A few years later, Tsubame-san left the family—been estranged, more like, but not disowned. At first, I didn't known why—I mean, one day she was there and the next no one would tell me where she had gone. She… She left without a goodbye."

Now it was my turn to tilt my head. So this was the reason why a random man had decided to take responsibility for me—why Wase had barged his way into my life, why he had never taken no for an answer, why he did all he could to keep me from getting into the Triad's clutches. But… Why had he left?

"I…" Wase smiled brightly. "I don't think I'm quite ready to tell you."

Oh. Well, then.

I could respect that. If it was anyone other than him, though, I probably would have pushed until something gave or broke. Our breathing filled the silence after that, and we stared for a moment at each other.

Shiya Wase was something symbiotic. But not really. We didn't need each other to survive, but at the same time we did. And I accepted that.

He patted my head as I reheated our stone cold soba, and for the first time in the seven years that I had known him, I didn't push him away.

**{KHR18KHR}**

"Sooo… My birthday's coming up."

I nodded absentmindedly, rifling through my pantry for the tea leaves that I needed. The thing about living with another person—as well as having two other people over to one's home regularly—was that no one could keep his items free from outside touch if he already have a magic cast-iron safe to hide them in. As it was, a safe would be a bit overkill for some tea leaves.

…But considering the fact that I have over a hundred different types and several brands, I should probably invest in one, if only to stay sane.

"Yeah?" I carefully resorted my spice blends, leaving an invisible line of space between the different brands as well as origin from whence the plants had came. African tea leaves, West Asian tea leaves, North American tea leaves, Chinese brands, pickled flowers, packets of pre-measured leaves… Now where was it?

"Kyouya!" Tsuna whined, poking my shoulder blade with an index finger, "my birthday's coming up soon!"

I heaved a sigh in frustration. It wasn't there."So?"

"'So?' So? I'm turning thirteen! I'll finally be a teenager!"

"…So?" I neurotically straightened out a row of bitter tea leaves. "Like that matters."

"You know, somehow I'm getting the vibe that you don't want me here."

I regarded him for a moment, then ducked back into the (extended) pantry. "Really."

"Really! You don't care at all! I'm going to be in middle school soon—I'll be catching up with you. And for the first time in forever, we'll be in the same school! I'll get to see you more often!"

Swapping around the teas until each section ended up in alphabetical order, I smiled. Then frowned, because _damn it, where could it be?!_

…Oh, there it was. I plucked the chamomile from off the very highest shelf and slunk off to boil the water.

"Kyouya! You're not answering again!"

"Oh, what?" I rubbed my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. "You were saying?"

My teeth burned, and that was never a good thing. How much more intense could the sensation grow? Would it never end? After the least amount of time taken for the leaves to steep with a nice flavor, I poured myself a cup and grabbed an uirō from the refrigerator. Tsuna groaned melodramatically and stole a cup for himself.

"Hibari-san, I'm always at a loss as to how your tea can taste so… well, divine. How did you learn?"

I swirled the fluid around in my cup as I watched Tsunayoshi do the same. "Years of practice. And aging. It's not that special." I made tea for myself because I had always liked tea. I wouldn't drink disgusting tea if I could help it.

But divine? _Someone_ had a silver tongue.

Speaking of silver tongues… I cocked my head and listened to the birds chirp in the autumn air, hearing for the sound of leaves crinkling as they settled on the ground.

When would that guy appear?

Soon, right?

…

"Tsu-kun," I began, "what else have you learnt about the Vongola recently?"

.

.

.

**A/N: Hey! I'm half dead! Yay!**

**Unbeta'd as always. Please, please, point out my mistakes. With all of my schoolwork, I really don't have the time to go back and reread everything. **

**Huh. I just realized RIGHT NOW AS I TYPE THIS that I never clarified on that random [1] in the middle of the last chapter. AHAHAHA. So I'll just… uh… add that now. **

**When Kyouya berates Ryohei for calling him 'you,' it's because Ryohei used the informal and rude word, "omae." You don't usually use that for near strangers or people older than you. And speaking of Ryohei, he didn't appear in this chapter. Wonder why.**

**{I'm looking at you, Wase-hakase. Did you really have to make off with the story like that? (****;)}**

**So there's some insight into Wase. Huh. For some reason I get the feeling that no one likes him… Don't worry, he may or may not die soon. Depending on if I want this story to end by canon or not.**

**OR NOT. I am so lost right now I don't even. What do you guys think? Ending pre-canon like this, or continuing with canon derailment? /flails**

**More info on Tsubame. She left the Triad because of Kisuke. Derp. I miss her. And Kisuke, for that matter. Maybe I'll write an omake with them later. Eh.**

**Because of a review, I'll explain what GEN means. It's shorthand for general, which means no pairing. But since I'm a troll and now so many people want 1827, there may or may not be more events like the opening scene. Hah.**

**77777 wave sensitives per flame * 7 wave types = 544439 total wave sensitives. Wave sensitives have wave energy. Flame users can use flames. Sky flames are so rare because next to no one can draw it out even with the wave energy.**

**Dì means younger brother in Mandarin. Tessen is a war fan (Japanese). **


	16. Chapter 16

Do As You Like Chapter Sixteen

"I'm doing alright. Wase's been making me eat all my meals, and not just all meat either…"

"It's getting cold, so I've been knitting—yeah, who would have thought that _I_ would be knitting scarves in my free time?"

"Hey, I mi—"

"…"

"Hmm. The leaves around here are beautiful—I wish you guys could see it all at this moment. Crisp and molten brown. Amber and honey. Star yellow and dandelion gold. Red and apple scarlet, too, both of your favorites. Blood crimson."

"…"

"How is it over there? I hope it's not as cold as over here. 'Snot even officially winter yet and all the herbivores are chattering their teeth off—can you imagine? It's times like these I'm glad you both…"

"I mi—"

"…Never mind. I'll… I'll talk to you two again sometime. In the meanwhile go do your whatever-it-is-that-you-guys-are-supposed-to-do. I'll be back soon."

Hands cold with soap water, I set the cleaning rag aside and fondly patted the shared stone one last time before getting up and wiping my hands on my slacks. I sneezed.

Sunlight pierced my eyes as I walked away.

(And if it happened to be evening, well, no one needed to know.)

**{KHR18KHR}**

"I've been wondering," mumbled Tsuna around a mouthful of rice, "why do you hold your hand so weirdly? It's got just the slightest angle. Here, I think." He pointed to his wrist.

I blinked and tilted my head. Then I considered his question. "I think it broke a few months ago." Yawning, I grabbed my chopsticks and picked apart the sanma before me.

"What."

"What?"

"I don't even."

The three speakers—Tsuna, Tetsuya, and Wase respectively—stared at me, each with his own disbelieving expression. Tetsuya dropped his bowl (thankfully wooden) onto the table with a clunk, his eyebrows swallowed up by his hair. Wase's eye twitched erratically. Tsuna abruptly kneeled (a movement up from sitting) and slammed his hands onto the table.

"Show me."

Throughout the series of reactions, I didn't stop eating. "Can we wait until after dinner? It's not that big of a deal."

"'Not that big of a deal'?" gasped Tetsuya, spluttering.

Wase was still twitching.

"It's just a broken wrist. I've had it for months now, don't start worrying now."

"I'm past worrying—I'm horrified!" the man finally protested, reaching over the table to pluck my chopsticks from my hands. He stalled for a moment, as if wondering which wrist I had broken, then grabbed my (correctly chosen) left hand. Immediately a yellow light flickered in his palm.

Tsuna gurgled something—before now, though the knowledge existed, he'd never seen Wase's flames—then settled for peering closer at the limb that I kept wrapped under a roll of bandages. Wase grunted.

"Hold on, I'm out of practice," he grumbled, gently turning my hand over to prod at the most inflamed areas. His thumb jabbed into my lunate bone and I flinched from the sharp pain that flared outward from that spot before the feeling sensation and left my hand feeling oddly numb. "There. That better?"

I inhaled deeply through my nose and took in the scents of lemon balm and sunflowers. Citrus. The taste of honey—plain, subtle, sweet—lingered on my tongue. "…What did you do?"

Withdrawing his flame, the doctor examined the newly healed bone. "I relocated a couple of your misaligned metacarpals and sealed up the hairline fractures. What did you do after you broke it, Kyouya-kun, take on a gang?"

I kept silent and shrugged because it wasn't one but _four_. Not that the doctor needed to know. He also didn't need to know that the wrist had healed wrongly twice in that time and that I had broken it again multiple times before that. Tsuna gave me a peeved glare—nothing ever escaped him—and grabbed my wrist. The brunet worried his lower lip between his teeth.

"Does it hurt?" The thing about Tsuna was that for a guy who tripped a lot, he sure had a fascination with injuries. Maybe it was his pacifistic nature, but the kid didn't like seeing others get hurt. While he could care less about any of his own (potential and past) injuries, even a single scraped knee was enough to send him flying forth with a cluster of bandages in tow. "It looks like it hurts."

Because it would only make Tsuna worry more if I lied, I made an 'eh' motion with my shoulder. "Not really."

Tsk'ing, Tsuna tested out the movement of my wrist. "Not really means not too much, therefore you're in pain." He jerked my hand backward so that my hand made an eighty-degree angle with my forearm, and I hissed from the sudden sharp sting.

"Oi!"

Frowning, Wase retrieved my hand from the clutches of my (currently) sadistic friend and rubbed some feeling back into the fingers. His brows furrowed a bit before a soft glow once again encased his hand.

"I find it a bit worrying to know that your pain tolerance is high enough that you can function fine for months with a broken wrist. I mean, I know you're ambidextrous, but you use two weapons."

Tetsuya leaned in to examine the warmth of the flickering fire. "Hey, guys? Can you, um, explain this fire-fire-sparkly stuff to me?"

The three of us paused and looked over to the blond (most normal) person in the room.

Tetsuya fidgeted. I gave a 'You go do it' look to the more proficient users since I only knew the bare basics from what I remembered. Tsuna (and no doubt, Tsunayoshi as well) squirmed under my gaze while Wase grimaced a bit and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

"Wave energy is a condensed network of one's strong emotions. It feeds on feelings—or more like is fueled by them—and is specialized into seven types. Flames like this," Wase explained, gesturing to the fire resting against my skin, "are the manifestation of that energy, and are called Dying Will Flames. To make them, one must burn up a part of his or her life energy or soul."

Tsuna blanched at the new influx of information while Tetsuya looked thoughtful. "Burn up your soul? Isn't that, I don't know, kind of… hardcore?"

My guardian shrugged. "In certain cases where you might need a flame, it doesn't matter if you use up your soul. If you're out of wave energy and your soul is the only thing that can keep a person from dying, by all means go ahead and use it." He paused and mused on this for a second. "Bear in mind, though, that it does shave off years of your own life—and all of the lives you'll live afterward."

I made a face at the last part. Reincarnation… How did that work if I had never had flames before?

The concept of flames in this body… I could describe it like I was always empty without realizing it. Like there was always a chill in the pit of my stomach that I had never noticed, and now that I had flames I was always warm. Not that I had better circulation (if anything it was probably worse) than before, but I always felt warm, even if my body didn't. It was hard to describe; flames were a like a drug that I had gotten addicted to, but in a benign and innocent way. I hated my flames, but they kept me warm on winter days and lent me strength. …Well, they would if I could control them.

What Wase was saying, however, made me frown. If I had flames now, did that mean that, if prompted, I could burn through my soul and give my future lives the curse of a short lifespan? If I had died at eighteen, did that mean, if pushed to the wire, I might lower that to seventeen or sixteen or fifteen?

Ugh. It wasn't like I had died of natural causes anyway. I snatched my chopsticks back and promptly stuffed a fried egg into my mouth—but gracefully, because I was a Hibari and Hibari did not look like pigs.

(I had standards, damn it!)

One thing niggled at me, however. "You sound like you've burned up your own soul before," I accused with narrowed eyes. "And often."

True to my expectations, the man stilled in the middle of his demonstration of flames for the Disciplinary Committee Vice-chairman. "Ah."

"Ah?" I mocked, ire building up under my skin. "How many times have you done it? And how much time did you waste—"

"It wasn't a waste," he cut in, glaring. "It… never was a waste." His voice quieted, and he sighed. "If you must know, only twice, and not for long."

"But how much time did you lose?" Tsuna inquired with a solemn tone, as if dreading the answer. To be honest, I maybe-sorta-kinda dreaded it as well.

Shrugging, Wase looked away.

"…Six years," he mumbled monotonously.

"Six years?!"

Tetsuya, who had been drinking some water, spat out a mouthful and started coughing. "What?!" he squeaked.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a large bite of pork to chew on something that wasn't my guardian. No—I would not think about that. Pah. He could have done whatever in the past; it wasn't like I cared. No one could change the past. I of all people knew that.

But I couldn't comprehend _why_. _Why_ had he used up six years of his life—just like that? Human views were odd. Take something and love it. Give it detail and hate it. The species was judgmental by nature, if only to survive for so long.

Good thing I wasn't human then, otherwise I would have hurt him.

(Ah, how ironic—)

I felt helpless at that moment. How could I stop him if the time came and he wanted to burn up his own soul again? Wase regretted nothing. How could he? He… protected people. This was something that I could not refute—something that my very being could not reject. Protect? Save? Rescue?

I didn't want to listen to this.

"Kyouya-kun?"

I calmly chewed my food and set the bowl aside to grab a—my—tea cup. Jasmine lingered on my tongue as I pulled the ceramic from my lips, and for a moment I wondered why, exactly, I had brewed jasmine. Perhaps I had been nostalgic; I wasn't sure. For some reason I could not comprehend the thoughts of the me from an hour ago, and it…

Pissed me off. Greatly. I wanted to fling the cup out of the window, to defenestrate it and see it shatter into the pavement, to watch the tea seep into the damp nighttime grass. But the cup was a memory, and I didn't want to destroy it, not when this was the cup that Kisuke had bought for me from a famous artisan, the cup that could only be the best for Hibari Kisuke's only son, the cup that I had complained about before regarding it as mine and mine alone. My hand kept a vice grip on the blisteringly hot material, my palm burning from the heat.

Fuck, I shouldn't have visited them…

"What?" I retorted, nursing the cup between my hands and gazing into its depths. A tea stalk floated upright, a sign of great luck. I didn't feel very lucky, and had never believed in superstitions, but for a single moment I wanted to believe in it.

And then I gulped it down, tea stalk and all, and looked up.

"Are you okay, Kyouya?"

Tsuna looked worried. So did Tetsuya, and for that matter, Wase.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I paused and regarded the stupid clock on the wall. "Oi, it's almost ten. Go home, both of you."

Tsuna and Tetsuya looked like they wanted to object, their faces mirrored in that a crease marred their brows, but an unamused look from me made them smile and nod. "We'll be going then," they chorused in unison. "Thanks for the meal," Tsuna added.

I waved him off. "Worry about yourself for once, Tsu-kun. I'm fine," I said firmly.

And they were gone. I felt oddly empty and yet settled at the same time. Emotions, physical feelings—I was one big embodied contradiction.

"Never would have pegged you for amicable when I first met you," said Wase after a pregnant pause. "I'm starting to get why you're friends with that kid now."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I replied with a yawn, picking up the bowls and chopsticks to put them in the sink.

Out of the corner of my eye, the doctor shrugged. "He's a good kid."

"He's Tsuna," I confirmed.

"Why do you call him that?"

I halted my rearranging and tilted my head in his direction without actually looking directly at him. "Tsu-kun."

"You're the only one who calls him that. Who he allows to call him that."

"What can I say? I'm special," I drawled, even though his mother also called him by that name. What did he want? As I washed my hands under the freezing spray of the faucet—it tended to cool to uncomfortable degrees towards late autumn—I closed my eyes and concentrated on the tiny knot in my stomach that worked as the core for my flames. There. I nudged it gently—like one would pet a feral animal—and heat flooded my body like water from a broken dam.

Wase moved behind me, and softly lowered his stick-thin hand on my head. "I'm glad," he mumbled as he ruffled my hair without actually messing it up, "that you're not as alone as I thought you would be as a kid."

"I'm never lonely," I snorted.

"Alone and lonely are different things." He shrugged again, then uncharacteristically squeezed my shoulders before drifting out of the kitchen. I shut off the water as soon as he left and moved to sit down.

I buried my head in my hands.

**{KHRR!KHR}**

"Yo, Hibari! I brought food!"

"For the last time, Sasagawa, get the hell out of my house!"

"Oi, it's extremely not extreme to curse!" chastised the boxer, his fist coming over to clap the older boy on the shoulder. He missed, but the movement sparked an eager peal of anticipation thrumming through his body. "Let's fight!"

"Get out, Sasagawa," the dark-haired teenager sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I—get out. I don't have the patience to deal with you today."

Ryohei huffed. Hibari was an extreme fighter—why did he have to be so unextreme? Wait, was unextreme a real word? Whatever, it was now. He jabbed at Hibari and watched the prefect roll to absorb the blow; a previously invisible tonfa swung out to smack Ryohei in the face.

How extreme! He made a note to piss off the Disciplinary Committee Chairman more often. That way he could train all he wanted!

"Oi, what's with that stupid look on your face?" Ryohei dodged the ensuing strikes with relative ease; Hibari wasn't exactly trying hard today. He'd have to correct that.

"It's called a smile, Hibari!" he shouted, grinning widely. "You smile at friends!" he explained very carefully, since apparently Hibari couldn't be inclined toward pleasantries.

Pleasantries. What a funny word.

"I know what smiling is for," said Hibari with a sharply raised brow. "However, you seem to be under illusions that we are any more than acquaintances. I am not your friend."

Blinking, Ryohei swerved away from an arc of steel and righted the bag of okonomiyaki in his hands.

"Why?" He stood still and caught the next blow with his palm, closing his fingers around the cold hollow steel baton. The surprise etched in Hibari's face felt almost palpable as the fight ground to a halt.

Frowning, Hibari let go of the tonfa and lashed out with a side kick that sent Ryohei flying. Thankfully, the teen had also grabbed the food before it could sail away like its former owner. Hibari opened the styrofoam container with a snap and examined the contents.

With thin, slender fingers, the prefect picked up a cheap plastic fork and stabbed it into the savory griddlecake. "Why?" the skylark repeated slowly. "I can't stand your boisterousness. Or your enthusiasm." He took glances back and forth between the boxer and the pilfered food, then took a bite, and then another, on and on until half of the food was gone with swift mechanical precision. "Hn. Not bad. Thank you for the food."

The container hit Ryohei in the head as he tried to sit up. Hibari slid the shoji door closed.

Huh. He could never get that guy.

**{KHR27KHR}**

**One year, three months and four days,** Tsunayoshi lethargically intoned within Tsuna's mind, mentally stretching out like a sunbathing cat. **Eight hours, ten minutes and two, three, four…**

"Stop that, it's depressing," muttered the body's owner with a petulant frown as he crossed off yet another 'x' on his calendar. Tsuna sighed and ran a hand through his gravity-defying hair, turning over to his dresser to pull on a long-sleeved shirt to go with his favorite orange hoodie. After a moment of debate—while cold, the weather didn't affect him beyond slight discomfort—he also grabbed the scarf that Kyouya had made for him for his birthday. The burnt orange yarn with the same shade as his flames was soft under his fingers, and he traced the white stripes (they reminded him of street lines) all the way to the large numbers at the ends.

_"Eh? Kyouya, you can knit?"_

_Almost guiltily, the elder boy jerked a nod. He put aside a ball of purple yarn and fiddled with a pair of needles before they too joined the yarn on the table. _

_Tsuna hummed with curiosity and prodded the needles like they could have bitten him. The metal was warm to touch; Kyouya must have knitted for a while. "Did Hibari-san teach you?" Tsuna vaguely recalled having seen multiple handmade items lying around the house during his younger years—though it was a stretch to believe Kyouya's late mother had been capable of knitting when she preferred reading and calligraphy (or moving) over such a mundane task. As it was, he had a hard time believing that Kyouya could knit even with the proof before his eyes. _

_At the prompting, Kyouya paused. It was a barely-there halt to his movements that Tsuna would have otherwise missed had it not been for Tsunayoshi's constant vigilance. "No," the elder teen denied, looking out the window now. He eyed the trees outside for a moment before turning back to meet the brunet's eyes. "A… friend taught me years ago."_

A friend?

_**A friend?**__ Tsunayoshi thought with a suspicious stare. __**Since when did he have friends other than us? When did that happen?**_

_Thankfully for Hibari-san, the newly thirteen-year-old deigned not to voice that question aloud. Instead he pulled at the coiled project that rested beneath his hands. "Is this a scarf?" He stretched the purple fabric apart and scrutinized the little v-shaped stitches on either side of the thing. Hibari-san snatched it back before he could slip the needles off. _

_"Yes, it is. So? Did you need something?"_

_Tsunayoshi pouted, a side-effect of living in his (mentally) younger counterpart. "Hibari-san, it's not like I only ever visit you to extort something."_

_The teen rolled his eyes and flopped backward on his futon with a soft whump. "Well? What is it?"_

_Here the boy hesitated. Would he sound stupid? Would Hibari-san laugh? Normally he wouldn't have been so self conscious, but it was always a risk with his childhood friend. Not to say that Hibari-san was particularly cruel or anything, but any laughter meant that he was amused (very, very amused). _

_Tsuna, and for that matter, Tsunayoshi as well (or especially), did not want to amuse him. They wanted to stand on equal footing with their carnivorous friend, even if it meant…_

_Well. They'd cross that bridge when it came. _

_(And it would, with the feeling that they were getting, the stares they could feel poking into his[their] back, with Iemitsu's connections to the mafia and with the commotion they'd cause with their flames.)_

_"Do you know what day it is today?"_

_Kyouya raised a brow as Tsuna regained control and blushed, the brunet hastily looking away. "You walked a mile to ask me the date."_

_"Um."_

_Kyouya shrugged. "It's the fourteenth, isn't it? Why, do you need it for a school project or something?"_

…He forgot? He really forgot? After we reminded him so many times?

_Tsunayoshi scoffed. __**You mean you. I don't particularly care. **_

_"Um."_

_**Stop stammering,**__ Tsunayoshi chided. _

I-I can't!

_**You're in our mind, why are you stuttering in here!**_

_"Do you have anything planned for today?" inquired Tsunayoshi after grabbing hold of the control that Tsuna had so easily relinquished. "Do you want to hang out?"_

_After a sigh and a stare, the frightening prefect rolled onto his side. "Please don't word it that way," said Hibari-san with a grimace. "It's too close to crowding."_

_"Two's a pair," he pointed out. "Three's a crowd."_

_"Shut up, you. No, I don't have plans. I did all that I needed for today."_

_Huh. That was a surprise. Normally Hibari-san had so much work to do (between patrols and handing out detentions/beatings, he had little personal time with the paperwork stacked up high on his desk) that even at the end of the day he still had work to do. Didn't he also do routinely checkups on the police force to weed out any corrupt officers?_

_"Do you… maybe wanna…" Tsuna teetered back and forth on his feet, his nervousness pushing Tsunayoshi out of the control center. "I, uh, eh, I…"_

_After a beat, Kyouya started laughing. _

_Loudly, at that. _

_"H-Hey!" cried Tsuna with a mortified air, "Stop laughing! No really, stop!" In response, the fourteen-year-old laughed harder, throwing back his head and pounding the futon with muffled fists. The beet-red brunet stood in agony for a second before lunging at his best friend and smothering him with his stomach. _

_"Ack—!"_

_"Oof!"_

_**You really didn't think that through. **_

Shut up!

_Kyouya pushed him off with a grunt, easily reversing their positions within the span of a heartbeat. He was grinning widely in the way he tended to do when his problems seemed like a distant and far off issue to be handled later. The look lent him a younger expression, like a buffer to his sharp lines and narrow eyes. It made Tsuna's heart skip a beat. _

_**Getting a crush, are we?**_

Sh-Shut up, 'Yoshi! I'm just surprised! Surprised!

_That said, the younger boy squeaked and fidgeted under the prefect's bright gaze. "Wh-What are you looking at?" he asked petulantly. Much to his surprise, Kyouya held his gaze for another second collapsing bonelessly atop him. With a discomfited mewl, Tsuna tried in vain to free himself. "Oi, Kyouya!"_

_Kyouya's shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. His feathery hair tickled Tsuna's neck, and the brunet gave another effort. He failed. _

_"Ah… You're so easy to rile up," said the skylark with a casual smirk. He patted Tsuna's hair like the boy was a pet of sorts before shoving something squishy in his hands. String. Yarn. Oh—a scarf. "Happy birthday, herbivore."_

**We have to get going, Na-kun.** Tsunayoshi industriously smoothed out the creases on his shirt before grabbing the headphone set and Tsuna's phone. With a skill honed by years of practice, he unlocked their window and leapt out, landing in the dewy morning grass with bent knees.

Internally huffing, Tsuna watched a mental pace away as he observed himself vaulting over walls and fences with ease. _You couldn't have, I don't know, waited?_

**You already know the answer to that,** Tsunayoshi loftily replied, stretching as he walked. "Aah. The sun feels nice today."

_It is nice to get out of the house sometimes, huh?_ asked Tsuna with a small smile. _Let's go to the cafe for some breakfast. I'm feeling like having crepes!_

Mama wasn't at home for that week; she'd left to go on a vacation with Iemitsu, apparently, for some alone time. They'd asked if he had wanted to come, of course, but he'd seen the expression on her face, and read what she didn't want to say, and told her to take as long as she needed—he could take care of himself and had Yoshi, didn't he? So she could continue kindling that love so that she wouldn't be unhappy with him. Just him was enough.

Tsuyanoshi rolled his eyes. **You and your crepes. I actually want some gelato right now.**

_Eeeeh? But it's so early in the morning! You'll ruin my stomach!_ Tsuna complained, shaking his head mentally.

**What can I say?** snorted Tsunayoshi, **I'm feeling Italian. **He rounded a corner and stopped at a junction.

_You're always feeling Italian,_ commented Tsuna with a snide edge, observing the group of daycare children crossing the street. _Because we __**are**__ Italian._

**Only a sixty-fourth of us. But moot point. I'm more Italian than you are, **_**leoncino**_**. **

_Zitto!_ Tsuna snapped back, easily switching over to the language that Tsunayoshi had always known—that he had taught his other half. _Senti, che ne dici di transigere? We'll get both. Iemitsu sure isn't skimpy with allowance, after all._

This was true; when Tsuna had been eight, he asked for fifty thousand yen over the phone. After knowing what it was for (Mama's birthday present), his father had the money in the mailbox that afternoon.

For this reason, Tsuna had thought that his father was magic, even knowing the man worked in the mafia. It was hard not to, not when Iemitsu made his mother so happy and took them on the best family outings—whenever he was home, at least. Logically speaking, he shouldn't have felt that way, yet subconsciously he had hung onto his childhood.

"To the cafe, then," Tsunayoshi murmured as he poked at Tsuna's train of thought. "Which flavor are you getting?"

_Green tea!_ chirped the Vongola heir as they entered the marketplace. _It's my favorite out of all the Japanese-European fusions. But then again you know that. _

**I'll get the sakura gelato, then.** Tsunayoshi liked that cafe for multiple reasons: it had different flavors with the seasonal changes, but the sakura desserts never changed, and well—the place had nice ambiance. Even if the handmade gelato was pink, there was something about tasting a piece of Japan with bonafide Italian flair in a tiny cup. No matter how many times the pair had tried to replicate the flavor, it never tasted right. The owner certainly had a way with desserts.

Too bad the normal meals weren't the best.

_Green tea and sakura, huh? We're in the wrong season for that._ Snickering, Tsuna took over and gave the cafe door a light shove. The wind chimes above his head rang with like tintinnabulations that made his spirits rise. He closed his eyes; a faint, familiar scent washed over him as he took his place at a corner table—his corner table that he always sat at, since not too many people frequented the establishment.

"Oh? Why, if it isn't Tsunayoshi-kun! What would you like to order today?" The owner poked her head out of the employee rooms and smiled widely in the way that old grandmothers tended to do when confronted with hungry grandchildren. In other words, it was a very shark-y smile.

Tsuna laughed and waved a hand. "Good morning, Nozomi-san. Don't always act so surprised. You know I always come on Saturdays. I'll have the sakura gelato and matcha crepe, please."

Nozomi-san gave a withered thumbs up. "Sakura and matcha, coming right up! It warms my old heart to see someone enjoy my cooking so much. Sometimes I wonder if you'll ever get a normal breakfast in the morning, though…" She threw him a withering look and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Everything about Nozomi Sanae was tiny, tiny, tiny—even the slack and matronly form that demanded attention from anyone and everyone who stepped within her domain. The only things that excepted the description were a pair of thick, round spectacles that sat on her eyes; in fact, they were so large and so magnifying that her eyes held a perpetually curious and surprised appearance to them. At sixty-eight years old, the woman oversaw and ran the entire cafe—had done so for the past four years after retiring from some mysterious job that no one could pry from her lips.

Tsunayoshi, of course, had an inkling as to what it was, but he was never one to pry. Tsuna didn't particularly care one way or another.

The three—two entities in one body and one old woman—had met one odd summer day during Tsuna's eleventh year that involved a pail of molten butter, several pieces of bacon, a flight of birds, a pack of stray dogs, one turtle, and one sadistic best friend named Hibari Kyouya; the less said about that the better. To summarize, Tsuna had run into the kindly old woman and knocked over a huge paper bag of apples like the clumsy protagonist of some story, and proceeded to help her out in apology.

Tsuna couldn't cook, clean, or really wait on tables since the patrons were so sparse that the old woman could handle them on her own. He had been stumped until Tsunayoshi suggested something interesting to him.

So Tsuna started redecorating. The decor was sparse and mostly brown wood, beige walls and yellow panels. He drew up floor plans and wall designs and attractions. When he noticed that the menu looked like a blind bat had designed it, he overhauled it and wrote his own.

Tsuna couldn't cook—but Tsunayoshi could, and Nozomi was even better. So cook they did.

Somehow or other, the two plus one rebuilt an entire restaurant from next to nothing in the span of three weeks. The knowledge still made Tsuna proud to this day—he had absolutely no idea how they had pulled it off—and Nozomi gave him free food whenever he came. Technically he co-owned the cafe—but it was only a technicality and didn't really mean anything.

…_Right?_

Tsunayoshi made a noise of disinterest and kept his focus on the sounds of sizzling pastries emitting from the kitchen door. He was hungry, damn it.

"A sakura gelato and matcha crepe~!" sang Nozomi as she waltzed toward them and placed the order on the table. "Enjoy, dearie!"

…**Dearie?**

Tsuna shrugged.

Something about the crepe that day seemed odd. It probably tasted good (obviously)—Nozomi would never give them anything less than stellar—but it was different from usual. These items—the crepe and gelato—were the only things that Tsuna had kept from the previous menu, and therefore were their favorites. But they were odd, these foods. Different. There was this… air about them today.

_It tastes fine. Is it the texture?_ Tsuna mused to his intuition as he gave in an took a bite of the crisp and fluffy pastry. Cautious, Tsunayoshi hummed and took hold of the left arm to pick up a spoonful of gelato. He examined it from all angles and took a subtle sniff. Then he placed it against his tongue.

Their amber eyes widened—mental and physical—in tandem.

_**Sarin: an odorless, tasteless, colorless neurotoxin. Potentially fatal. Causes: overly stimulated muscles, respiratory issues, fatigue. Current exposure: air and contaminated foods. **_

_**In ten minutes: loss of consciousness, respiratory failure, potential cardiac arrest, death. **_

_**She's staring at me,**_ Tsuna thought, rather calmly as he exhaled and felt his flames flicker on his tongue like snakefire, looking the old woman in the eyes as he did so. Tsunayoshi dissolved into the background and stopped being another person entirely—here, there was only Tsuna, his flames, and his intuition. _**She probably set this up. Probably got in contact with one of the terrorist organizations that used to used it. I'm not going to die. Sarin has an antidote, and I'm probably just going to be a hostage. But for who?**_

_**Funny.**_ He fought to keep his eyes open; his head spun. But he kept breathing, in, out, in, out, in out, in out, in, in, in, ouuuutttt. In out. Inout. _Inoutinoutinout_.

_**I was supposed to meet Kyouya today about what to do about my Vongola status. **_

He sighed a tiny wisp of a sigh—more of a small exhale, really—and felt his eyes roll back into his skull.

_**Kyouya's going to kill whoever decided to do this in his territory. **_

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**A/N: Hi. It took me three weeks to get this out. Kill me now. **

**All I can say is that my college classes have been killing me xD. Also, Physics. Enough said about that the better. **

**So. Some real action now after dilly dallying for several chapters now. :D Tsuna really took over for more than half of this. I need to stop with that, but Tsuna and Yoshi interactions as so funnnnnnn. Sometimes you can just forget that they're in the same body, ahahaha. **

**I need to go look up some fics on Ryohei. Some really good ones with great characterization. Because he is too I don't even. Can anyone recommend? **

**Yes, I knit. For that matter, I also draw, write, and play the violin. Can Kyouya do these? Yes. Will he ever do these things in story? Probably not. Other than knitting. **

**Sarin is real. It's a man-made toxin mean for warfare, and was used in two Japanese terrorist attacks in 1994 and 1995. Pretty terrifying, I guess. As for drugging Tsuna, I figured, why not? Blunt head trauma can only be so interesting to write about twice. No one expects that nice old lady. **

**(Except me.)**

**Also, did no one forget the fact that Kyouya broke his wrist a couple chapters ago? And didn't get suspicious about why Wase didn't freak out about it? OAo. **

**QUESTION: Who wants 1827? Please answer honestly. Based on this, I may reconsider making DaYL gen. Romance, of course, will not be the focus. Ever. **


End file.
